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ALLAN PINKERTON'S 

GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES. 


x.—>THE MOLLIE MAGUIRES AND DETECTIVES, 
s.— STRIKERS, COMMUNISTS, AND DETECTIVES. 

3. —CRIMINAL REMINISCENCES AND DETECTIVES. 

4. —THE MODEL TOWN AND DETECTIVES. 

5. —THE SPIRITUALISTS AND DETECTIVES. 

6 . —THE EXPRESSMEN AND DETECTIVES. 

7. —THE SOMNAMBULIST AND DETECTIVES. 

8. —CLAUDE MELNOTTE AS A DETECTIVE. 

q .—THE MISSISSIPPI OUTLAWS AND DETECTIVES* 
to.—GYPSIES AND DETECTIVES. 

BUCHOLZ AND DETECTIVES, 
ta.—THE RAILROAD FORGER AND DETECTIVES. 
13.-BANK ROBBERS AND DETECTIVES. 

>4. —THE BURGLAR’S FATE AND DETECTIVES. 

15. —A DOUBLE LIFE AND DETECTIVES. 

16. —PROFESSIONAL THIEVES AND DETECTIVES* 

17. —THIRTY YEARS A DETECTIVE. 

18. —THE SPY OF THE REBELLION. 


•• The mental characteristics of Allan Pinkerton were 
judgment as to facts, knowledge of men, the ability to 
concentrate his faculties on one subject, and the persist¬ 
ent power of will. A mysterious problem of crime, 
against which his life was devoted, presented to his 
thought, was solved almost in an instant, and seemingly 
by his intuitions. With half-closed eyes he saw the scene 
in which the wrong was done, read every movement of 
the criminals, and reached invariably the correct con¬ 
clusion as to their conduct and guilt/ 


A new uniform edition , cloth bound. Illustrated. 
Price per voL $1.00. 


Q. W. Dillingham Co., Publishers 

NEW YORK. 


















































































































o 

























































































































































































































































































































































































































BUCHOLZ 


AND 

THE DETECTIVES. 


BY 

ALLAN PINKERTON, 

AUTHOR OF 

14 THE EXPRESSMAN AND THE DETECTIVE,” “THE MODEL TOWN 
AND THE DETECTIVES,” “THE SPIRITUALISTS AND THE 
DETECTIVES,” “ THE MOLLIE MAGUIRES AND THE 
DETECTIVES,” “STRIKERS. COMMUNISTS, TRAMPS 
AND DETECTIVES,” “ THE GYPSIES AND 
THE DETECTIVES,” ETC., ETC., ETC. 



NEW YORK: 

G. W. Dillingham Co., Publishers. 


VAv/ AAV'A 

,?5a 


COPTEIGHT, 1880, BY 
ALLAN PINKERTON 
Copyright, 1908, by 
JOAN CHALMERS 


Bucholz 




CONTENTS. 


THE CRIME. 

CHAPTER I. 

PAM 

The Arrival in South Norwalk.—The Purchase of the 
Farm.—A Miser’s Peculiarities, and the Villagers’ 
Curiosity. 17 


CHAPTER JL 

William Bucholz.—Life at Roton Hill.—A Visit to New 
York City. 80 


CHAPTER IH. 

An Alarm at the Farm House.—The Dreadful Announce¬ 
ment of William Bucholz.—The Finding of the 
Murdered Man.... . 80 


CHAPTER IV. 


The Excitement in the Village.—The Coroner’s Investi¬ 
gation.—The Secret Ambuscade. 


M 


« 






VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER Y. 

PAG* 

The Hearing Before the Coroner.—Romantic Rumors 
and Vague Suspicions.—An Unexpected Telegram. 

—Bucholz Suspected. 66 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Miser’s Wealth.—Over Fifty Thousand Dollars 
Stolen from the Murdered Man.—A Strange Finan¬ 
cial Transaction.—A Verdict, and the Arrest of 
Bucholz. 67 

CHAPTER VH. 

Bucholz in Prison.—Extravagant Habits, and Suspicious 
Expenditures.—The German Consul Interests Him¬ 
self.—Bucholz Committed. 76 

CHAPTER VHI. 

My Agency is Employed.—The Work of Detection 
Begun. 67 

THE HISTORY. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Dortmund.—Railroad Enterprise and Prospective For¬ 
tune.—Henry Schulte’s Love.—An Insult and Its 
Resentment.—An Oath of Revenge. 68 

CHAPTER X. 

A. Curse, and Plans of Vengeance. 106 








CONTENTS. 


A 


CHAPTER XI. 


PA6B 

Moonlight Walk.—An Unexpected Meeting.—The 
Murder of Emerence Bauer.—The Oath Fulfilled... 115 


CHAPTER XH. 

The Search f 3 r the Missing Girl.—The Lover’s Judg¬ 
ment.—Henry Schulte’s Grief.—The Genial Farmer 
Becomes the Grasping Miser.. 122 


CHAPTER XIH. 

Henry Schulte becomes the Owner of “ Alten-Hagen.”— 
Surprising Increase in Wealth.—An Imagined At¬ 
tack Upon His Life.—The Miser Determines to Sail 
for America. 181 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The Arrival in New York.—Frank Bruner Determines to 
Leave the Service of His Master.—The Meeting of 
Frank Bruner and William Bucholz. 148 

CHAPTER XV. 

A History of William Bucholz.—An Abused Aunt who 
Disappoints His Hopes.—A Change of Fortune.— 

The Soldier becomes a Farmer.—The Voyage to 
New York. . 157 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Frank Leaves the Service of His Master.—A Bowery 
Concert Saloon.—The Departure of Henry Schulte. 

—William Bucholz Enters the Employ of the Old 
Gentleman. 168 







CONTENTS. 


viii 


THE DETECTION. 


CHAPTER XVH. 


PAftl 

The Detective.—His Experience, and His Practice.—A 
Plan of Detection Perfected.—The Work is Begun. 177 


CHAPTER XVIH. 

A Detective Reminiscence.—An Operation in Bridgeport 
in 1866.—The Adams Express Robbery.—A Half 
Million of Dollars Stolen.—Capture of the Thieves. 

—One of the Principals Turns State’s Evidence.— 
Conviction and Punishment. 185 


CHAPTER ^~nr 

The Jail at Bridgeport. — An Important Arrest. — 
Bucholz Finds a Friend.—A Suspicious Character 
who Watches and Listens.—Bucholz Relates his 
Story. 205 


CHAPTER XX. 

Bucholz Passes a Sleepless Night.—An Important Dis¬ 
covery.—The Finding of the Watch of the Murdered 
Man.—Edward Sommers Consoles the Distressed 
Prisoner...218 


CHAPTER XXI 

A Romantic Theory Dissipated.—The Fair Clara Be¬ 
comes communicative.—An Interview with the Bar 
Keeper of the “ Crescent Hotel.”. 220 






CONTENTS . 


lx 


CHAPTER XXIL 

FAGB 

Sommers Suggests a Doubt of Bucholz’s Innocence.—He 
Employs Bucholz’s Counsel to Effect his Release.— 

A Visit from the State’s Attorney.—A Difficulty, 
and an Estrangement. 239 


CHAPTER XXHI. 

The Reconciliation.—Bucholz makes an Important Reve¬ 
lation.—Sommers Obtains his Liberty and Leaves 
the Jail. 244 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Sommers Returns to Bridgeport.—An Interview with 
Mr. Bollman.—Sommers Allays the Suspicions of 
Bucholz’s Attorney, and Engages Him as his Own 
Counsel.. 252 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Sommers’ Visit to South Norwalk.—He Makes the Ac¬ 
quaintance of Sadie Waring .—A Successful Ruse.— 
Bucholz Confides to his Friend the Hiding Place of 
the Murdered Man’s Money.260 


CHAPTER XXVL 

Edward Sommers as “ The Detective.”—A Visit to the 
Barn, and Part of the Money Recovered.—The 
Detective makes Advances to the Counsel for the 
Prisoner.—A Further Confidence of an Important 
Nature ..27# 







X 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

PAGE 

A Midnight Visit to the Barn.—The Detective Wields a 
Shovel to Some Advantage.—Fifty Thousand Dol¬ 
lars Found in the Earth.—A Good Night’s Work... 284 

CHAPTER XXVHI. 

The Detective Manufactures Evidence for the Defense.— 

An Anonymous Letter.—An Important Interview— 

The Detective Triumphs Over the Attorney. 295 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Bucholz Grows Skeptical and Doubtful.—A fruitless 
Search.—The Murderer Involuntarily Reveals Him¬ 
self... 809 


THE JUDGMENT. 

CHAPTER YYY 

The Trial.—An Unexpected Witness.—A Convincing 
Story.—An Able but Fruitless Defense.— A Verdict 
of Guilty.—The Triumph of Justice. 819 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Another Chance for Life.—The Third Trial Granted.— 

' A Final Verdict, and a Just Punishment. 888 






PREFACE, 


rpHE following pages narrate a story of detec- 
tive experience, which, in many respects, 
is alike peculiar and interesting, and one 
which evinces in a marked degree the correct¬ 
ness of one of the cardinal principles of my 
detective system, viz.: “That crime can and 
must be detected by the pure and honest heart 
obtaining a controlling power over that of the 
criminal.” 

The history of the old man who, although 
in the possession of unlimited wealth, leaves 
the shores of his native land to escape the 
imagined dangers of assassination, and arrives 
in America, only to meet his death—violent 
and mysterious—at the hands of a trusted 
servant, is in all essential points a recital of 
actual events. While it is true that in 
describing the early career of this man, the 



PREFACE. 


xii 

mind may have roamed through the field of 
romance, yet the important events which are 
related of him are based entirely upon infor¬ 
mation authentically derived. 

The strange operation of circumstances 
which brought these two men together, 
although they had journeyed across the seas 
—each with no knowledge of the existence 
of the other—to meet and to participate in the 
sad drama of crime, is one of those realistic 
evidences of the inscrutable operations of fate, 
which are of frequent occurrence in daily life. 

The system of detection which was adopted 
in this case, and which was pursued to a suc¬ 
cessful termination, is not a new one in the 
annals of criminal detection. From the incep¬ 
tion of my career as a detective, I have believed 
that crime is an element as foreign to the 
human mind as a poisonous substance is to 
the body, and that by the commission of a 
crime, the man or the woman so offending, 
weakens, in a material degree, the mental and 
moral strength of their characters and dispo¬ 
sitions. Upon this weakness the intelligent 
detective must bring to bear the force and 
influence of a superior, moral and intellectual 
power, and then successful detection is assured. 


PREFACE . 


ziii 


The criminal, yielding to a natural impulse 
of human nature, must seek for sympathy. His 
crime haunts him continually, and the burden 
of concealment becomes at last too heavy to 
bear alone. It must find a voice; and whether 
it be to the empty air in fitful dreamings, or 
into the ears of a sympathetic friend—he must 
relieve himself of the terrible secret which is 
bearing him down. Then it is that the watch¬ 
ful detective may seize the criminal in his 
moment of weakness and by his sympathy, 
and from the confidence he has engendered, 
he will force from him the story of his crime. 

That such a course was necessary to be pur¬ 
sued in this case will be apparent to all. The 
suspected man had been precipitately arrested, 
and no opportunity was afforded to watch his 
movements or to become associated with him 
while he was at liberty. He was an inmate of a 
prison when I assumed the task of his detection, 
and the course pursued was the only one which 
afforded the slightest promise of success; hence 
its adoption. 

Severe moralists may question whether this 
course is a legitimate or defensible one ; but as 
long as crime exists, the necessity for detection 
is apparent. That a murderous criminal should 


PREFACE. 


li v 

go unwhipt of justice because the process of hil 
detection is distasteful to the high moral sensi¬ 
bilities of those to whom crime is, perhaps, a 
stranger, is an argument at once puerile and ab¬ 
surd The office of the detective is to serve the 
ends of justice ; to purge society of the degrad¬ 
ing influences of crime ; and to protect the lives, 
the property and the honor of the community at 
large; and in this righteous work the end will 
unquestionably justify the means adopted to 
secure the desired result. 

That the means used in this case were justi¬ 
fiable the result has proven. By no other course 
could the murderer of Henry Schulte have been 
successfully punished or the money which he 
nad stolen recovered. 

The detective, a gentleman of education and 
refinement, in the interests of justice assumes 
the garb of the criminal; endures the privations 
and restraints of imprisonment, and for weeks 
and months associates with those who have de¬ 
fied the law, and have stained their hands with 
blood; but in the end he emerges from the try¬ 
ing and fiery ordeal through which he has passed 
triumphant. The law is vindicated, and the 
criminal is punished. 

Despite the warnings of his indefatigable 


PREFACE . 


xi 


counsel, and the fears which they had im¬ 
planted in his mind, the detective had gained 
a control over the mind of the guilty man, 
which impelled him to confess his crime and re¬ 
veal the hiding place of the money which had 
led to its commission. 

That conviction has followed this man 
should be a subject of congratulation to all 
law-abiding men and women ; and if ,the fate of 
this unhappy man, now condemned to long 
weary years of imprisonment, shall result in 
deterring others from the commission of crime, 
surely the operations of the detective have been 
more powerfully beneficial to society than all 
the eloquence and nicely-balanced theories—in¬ 
capable of practical application—of the theo¬ 
retical moralist, who doubts the efficiency or 
the propriety of the manner in which this great 
result has been accomplished. 

ALLAN PINKERTON. 


BUCHOIZ AND THE DETECTIVES. 


THE CRIME. 


CHAPTER I. 


The Arrival in South Norwalk.—The Purchase of the 
Farm.—A Miser's Peculiarities, and the Vil¬ 
lagers' Curiosity. 


\ BOUT a mile and a half from the city of 
South Norwalk, in the State of Connec¬ 
ticut, rises an eminence known as Roton Hill. 
The situation is beautiful and romantic in the 
extreme. Far away in the distance, glistening 
in the bright sunshine of an August morning, 
roll the green waters of Long Island Sound, 
bearing upon its broad bosom the numerous 
vessels that ply between the City of New York 




18 


THE ARRIVAL IN 


and the various towns and cities along the 
coast. The massive and luxurious steamers 
and the little white-winged yachts, the tall 
“three-masters” and the trim and gracefully - 
sailing schooners, are in full view. At the base 
of the hill runs the New York and New Haven 
Railroad, with its iron horse and long trains 
of cars, carrying their wealth of freights and 
armies of passengers to all points in the East, 
while to the left lies the town of South Nor¬ 
walk—the spires of its churches rising up into 
the blue sky, like monuments pointing heaven¬ 
ward— and whose beautiful and capacious 
school-houses are filled with the bright eyes 
and rosy faces of the youths who receive from 
competent teachers the lessons that will prove 
so valuable in the time to come. 

Yarious manufactories add to the wealth of 
the inhabitants, whose luxurious homes and 
bright gardens are undoubted indications of 
prosperity and domestic comfort. The placid 
river runs through the town, which, with the 
heavy barges lying at the wharves, the draw¬ 
bridges which span its shores, and the smaller 


SOUTH NORWALK . 


If 


crafts, which afford amusement to the youthful 
fraternity, contribute to the general picturesque¬ 
ness of the scene. 

The citizens, descended from good old revo¬ 
lutionary sires, possess the sturdy ambitions, 
the indomitable will and the undoubted honor 
of their ancestors, and, as is the case with all 
progressive American towns, South Norwalk 
boasts of its daily journal, which furnishes the 
latest intelligence of current events, proffers its 
opinions upon the important questions of the 
day, and, like the Sentinel of old, stands im¬ 
movable and unimpeachable between the people 
and any attempted encroachment upon their 
rights. 

On a beautiful, sunny day in August, 1878, 
there descended from the train that came puff¬ 
ing up to the commodious station at South 
Norwalk, an old man, apparently a German, 
accompanied by a much younger one, evidently 
of the same nationality The old gentleman 
was not prepossessing in appearance, and seemed 
to be avoided by his well-dressed fellow-passen¬ 
gers. He was a tall, smooth-faced man about 


20 


THE ARRIVAL IN 


sixty years of age, but bis broad shoulders and 
erect carriage gave evidence of an amount of 
physical power and strength scarcely in accord 
with his years. Nor was his appearance calcu¬ 
lated to impress the observer with favor. He 
wore a wretched-looking coat, and upon his 
head a dingy, faded hat of foreign manufacture. 
His shoes showed frequent patches, and looked 
very much as though their owner had performed 
the duties of an amateur cobbler. 

It was not a matter of wonder, therefore, 
that the round-faced Squire shrugged his burly 
shoulders as the new-comer entered his office, 
or that he was about to bestow upon the forlorn- 
looking old man some trifling token of charity. 

The old gentleman, however, was not an 
applicant for alms. He did not deliver any 
stereotyped plea for assistance, nor did he recite 
a tale of sorrow and suffering calculated to melt 
the obdurate heart of the average listener to 
sympathy, and so with a wave of his hand he 
declined the proffered coin, and stated the 
nature of his business. 

The Squire soon discovered his error, for 


SOUTH NORWALK . 


s: 


instead of asking for charity, his visitor desired 
to make a purchase, and in place of being a 
victim of necessity, he intended to become a 
land-owner in that vicinity. 

The young man who accompanied him, and 
who was dressed in clothing of good quality 
and style, was discovered to be his servant, and 
the old gentlemen, in a few words, completed a 
bargain in which thousands of dollars were in¬ 
volved. 

The blue eyes of the worthy Squire opened 
in amazement as the supposed beggar, drawing 
forth a well-filled but much-worn leather wallet, 
and taking from one of its dingy compartments 
the amount of the purchase-money agreed 
upon, afforded the astonished magistrate a 
glimpse of additional wealth of which the 
amount paid seemed but a small fraction. 

The land in question which thus so suddenly 
and strangely changed hands was a farm of 
nearly thirty acres, situate upon Roton Hill, 
and which had been offered for sale for some 
time previous, without attracting the attention 
of an available purchaser. When, therefore. 


N 


THE ARRIVAL IN 


the new-comer completed his arrangements in 
comparatively such few words, and by the pay¬ 
ment of the purchase-money in full, he so com¬ 
pletely surprised the people to whom the facts 
were speedily related by the voluble Squire, 
that the miserably apparelled owner of the 
“Hill,” became at once an object of curiosity 
and interest. 

A few days after this event, the old gentle¬ 
man, whose name was ascertained to be John 
Henry Schulte, formally entered into possession 
of his land, and with his servants took up his 
abode at Roton Hill. 

The dwelling-house upon the estate was an 
unpretentious frame building, with gable roof, 
whose white walls, with their proverbial green 
painted window shutters overlooking the road, 
showed too plainly the absence of that care and 
attention which is necessary for comfort and 
essential to preservation. It was occupied at 
this time by a family who had been tenants 
under the previous owner, and arrangements 
were soon satisfactorily made by Henry Schulte 


SOUTH NORWALK . 


SI 


by which they were to continue their resi 
dence in the white farm-house upon the 44 Hill.” 

This family consisted of a middle-aged man, 
whose name was Joseph Waring, his wife and 
children—a son and two blooming daughters, 
and as the family of Henry Schulte consisted 
only of himself and his servant, the domestic 
arrangements were soon completed, and he be¬ 
came domiciled at once upon the estate which 
he had purchased. 

The young man who occupied the position 
as servant, or valet, to the eccentric old gentle¬ 
man, was a tall, broad-shouldered, fine-looking 
young fellow, whose clear-cut features and 
prominent cheek-bones at once pronounced him 
to be a German. His eyes were large, light 
blue in color, and seemed capable of flashing 
with anger or melting with affection ; his com¬ 
plexion was clear and bright, but his mouth 
was large and with an expression of sternness 
which detracted from the pleasing expression 
of his face; while his teeth, which were some¬ 
what decayed, added to the unpleasing effect 
thus produced. He was, however, rather a 


THE ARRIVAL IN 


U 

good-looking fellow, with the erect carriage and 
jaunty air of the soldier, and it was a matter of 
surprise to many, that a young man of his 
appearance should occupy so subservient a 
position, and under such a singular master. 

Such was William Bucholz, the servant of 
Henry Schulte. 

Between master and man there appeared to 
exist a peculiar relation, partaking, at times, 
more of the nature of a protector than the ser¬ 
vant, and in their frequent walks William 
Bucholz would invariably be found striding on 
in advance, while his aged, but seemingly 
robust, employer would follow silently and 
thoughtfully at a distance of a few yards. At 
home, however, his position was more clearly 
defined, and William became the humble valet 
and the nimble waiter. 

The reserved disposition and retired habits of 
the master were regarded as very eccentric by 
his neighbors, and furnished frequent food for 
comment and speculation among the gossips 
which usually abound in country villages—and 
not in this case without cause. His manner of 


SOUTH NOR WALK. 


35 

living was miserly and penurious in the extreme, 
and all ideas of comfort seemed to be utterly 
disregarded. 

The furniture of the room which he occupied 
was of the commonest description, consisting of 
an iron bedstead, old and broken, which, with 
its hard bed, scanty covering and inverted camp- 
stool for a pillow, was painfully suggestive of 
discomfort and unrest. A large chest, which 
was used as a receptacle for food ; a small deal 
table, and two or three unpainted chairs, com¬ 
pleted the inventory of the contents of the 
chamber in which the greater portion of his 
time was passed when at home. 

The adjoining chamber, which was occu¬ 
pied by Bucholz, was scarcely more luxurious, 
except that some articles for toilet use were 
added to the scanty and uninviting stock. 

The supplies for his table were provided by 
himself, and prepared for his consumption by 
Mrs. Waring. In this regard, also, the utmost 
parsimony was evinced, and the daily fare con¬ 
sisted of the commonest articles of diet that he 

was able to purchase. Salt meats and fish, 

a 


TEE ARRIVAL IN 


Z6 

brown bread and cheese, seemed to be the staple 
articles of food. At the expiration of every 
week, accompanied by William, he would jour¬ 
ney to South Norwalk, to purchase the neces¬ 
sary stores for the following seven days, and he 
soon became well-kncwn to the shopkeepers for 
the niggardly manner of his dealings. Upon his 
return his purchases would be carefully locked 
up in the strong box which he kept in his room, 
and would be doled out regularly to the servant 
for cooking in the apartments below, with a 
stinting exactness painfully amusing to witness. 

The only luxury which he allowed himself 
was a certain quantity of Rhenish wine, of 
poor quality and unpleasant flavor, which was 
partaken of by himself alone, and apparently 
very much enjoyed. At his meals Bucholz was 
required to perform the duties of waiter ; arrang¬ 
ing the cloth, carrying the food and dancing in 
constant attendance—after which he would be 
permitted to partake of his own repast, either 
with the family, who frequently invited him, 
and thus saved expense, or in the chamber of 
his master. 


SOUTH NORWALK. 


Vt 


Gossip in a country village travels fast 
and loses nothing in its passage. Over many 
a friendly cup of tea did the matrons and 
maids discuss the peculiarities of the wealthy 
and eccentric old man who had so suddenly 
appeared among them, while the male portion 
of the community speculated illimitably as 
to his history and his possessions. 

He was frequently met walking along the 
highway with his hands folded behind his 
back, his head bent down, apparently in deep 
thought, William in advance, and the master 
plodding slowly after him, and many efforts 
were made to cultivate his acquaintance, bu* 
always without success. 

This evidence of an avoidance of conver¬ 
sation and refusal to make acquaintances, 
instead of repressing a tendency to gossip, only 
seemed to supply an opportunity for exaggera¬ 
tion, and speculation largely supplied the want 
of fact in regard to his wealth and his ante¬ 
cedents. 

Entirely undisturbed by the many reports 
in circulation about him, Henry Schulte pursued 


*8 


THE ARRIVAL IN 


the isolated life he seemed to prefer, paying no 
heed to the curious eyes that were bent upon 
him, and entirely oblivious to the vast amount 
of interest which others evinced in his welfare. 

He was in the habit of making frequent 
journeys to the City of New York alone, and 
on these occasions William would meet him 
upon his return and the two would then 
pursue their lonely walk home. 

One day upon reaching South Norwalk, 
after a visit to the metropolis, he brought with 
him a large iron box which he immediately 
consigned to the safe keeping of the bank 
located in the town, and this fact furnished 
another and more important subject for con¬ 
versation. 

He had hitherto seemed to have no confi¬ 
dence in banking institutions and trust com¬ 
panies, and preferred to be his own banker, 
carrying large sums of money about his person 
which he was at no pains to conceal, and so, 
as he continued this practice, and as his 
possessions were seemingly increased by the 


SOUTH NORWALK. 


2S 

portentous-looking iron chest, the speculations 
as to his wealth became unbounded. 

Many of the old gossips had no hesitancy 
in declaring that he was none other than a 
foreign count or some other scion of nobility, 
who had, no doubt, left his native land on 
account of some political persecution, or that 
he had been expatriated by his government 
for some offense which had gained for the 
old man that dreadful punishment—royal 
disfavor. 

Oblivious of all this, however, the innocent 
occasion of their wonderment and speculation 
pursued his lonely way unheeding and undis¬ 
turbed. 


CHAPTER II. 


William Bucholz—Life at Roton Hill — A Visit to 


New York City. 


ILLIAM BUCHOLZ, the servant of the 



old gentleman, did not possess the 
morose disposition nor the desire for isolation 
evinced by his master, for, instead of shunning 
the society of those with whom he came in 
contact, he made many acquaintances during 
his leisure hours among the people of the town 
and village, and with whom he soon became on 
terms of perfect intimacy. To him, therefore, 
perhaps as much as to any other agency, was 
due in a great measure the fabulous stories of 
the old man’s wealth. 

Being of a communicative disposition, and 
gifted with a seemingly frank and open man¬ 
ner, he found no difficulty in extending his 
circle of acquaintances, particularly among 
those of a curious turn of mind. In response 
to their eager questioning, he would relate 


[80] 


LIFE AT ROTOR HILL. 81 

such wonderful stories in reference to his mas¬ 
ter, of the large amount of money which he 
daily carried about his person, and of reputed 
wealth in Germany, that it was believed by 
some that a modern Croesus had settled in their 
midst, and while, in common with the rest of 
humanity, they paid homage to his gold, they 
could not repress a feeling of contempt for the 
miserly actions and parsimonious dealings of 
its possessor. 

With the young ladies also William seemed 
to be a favorite, and his manner of expressing 
himself in such English words as he had ac¬ 
quired, afforded them much interest and no 
little amusement. Above all the rest, how¬ 
ever, the two daughters of Mrs. Waring pos¬ 
sessed the greatest attractions for him, and the 
major part of his time, when not engaged in 
attending upon his employer, was spent in 
their company. Of the eldest daughter he ap¬ 
peared to be a devoted admirer, and this fact 
was far from being disagreeable to the young 
lady herself, who smiled her sweetest smiles 




82 


LIFE AT ROTON HILL. 


upon the sturdy young German who sued for 
her favors. 

Sadie Waring was a wild, frolicsome young 
lady of about twenty years of age, with an 
impulsive disposition, and an inclination for 
mischief which was irrepressible. Several ex¬ 
periences were related of her, which, while not 
being of a nature to deserve the censure of her 
associates, frequently brought upon her the 
reproof of her parents, who looked with dis¬ 
favor upon the exuberance of a disposition 
that acknowledged no control. 

Bucholz and Sadie became warm friends, 
and during the pleasant days of the early Au¬ 
tumn, they indulged in frequent and extended 
rambles ; he became her constant chaperone to 
the various traveling shows which visited the 
town, and to the merry-makings in the vicinity. 
Through her influence also, he engaged the ser¬ 
vices of a tutor, and commenced the study of 
the English language, in which, with her assist¬ 
ance, he soon began to make rapid progress* 

In this quiet, uneventful way, the time 
passed on, and nothing occurred to disturb the 


LIFE AT ROTON HILL. 8 « 

usual serenity of their existence. No attempt 
was made by Henry Schulte to cultivate the 
land which he had purchased, and, except a 
small patch of ground which was devoted to the 
raising of a few late vegetables, the grass and 
weeds vied with each other for supremacy in 
the broad acres which surrounded the house. 

Daily during the pleasant weather the old 
gentleman would wend his way to the river, and 
indulge in the luxury of a bath, which seemed 
to be the only recreation that he permitted him¬ 
self to take ; and in the evening, during which 
he invariably remained in the house, he would 
spend the few hours before retiring in playing 
upon the violin, an instrument of which he was 
very fond, and upon which he played with no 
ordinary skill. 

The Autumn passed away, and Winter, 
cold, bleak, and cheerless, settled over the 
land. The bright and many-colored leaves that 
had flashed their myriad beauties in the ful! 
glare of the sunlight, had fallen from the 
trees, leaving their trunks, gnarled and bare, 
to the mercy of the sweeping winds. The 
2* 


84 


LIFE AT ROTON HILL. 


streams were frozen, and the merry-makers 
skimmed lightly and gracefully over the glassy 
surface of pond and lake. Christmas, that 
season of festivity, when the hearts of the chil¬ 
dren are gladdened by the visit of that fabu¬ 
lous gift-maker, and when music and joy rule 
the hour in the homes of the rich—but when 
also, pinched faces and hungry eyes are seen in 
the houses of the poor—had come and gone. 

To the farm-house on the “ Hill,’’ there had 
come no change during this festive season, and 
the day was passed in the ordinary dull and 
uneventful manner. William Bucholz and 
Sadie Waring had perhaps derived more 
enjoyment from the day than any of the 
others, and in the afternoon had joined a 
party of skaters on the lake in the vicinity, 
but beyond this, no incident occurred to recall 
very forcibly the joyous time that was passing. 

On the second day after Christmas, Henry 
Schulte informed William of his intention to go 
to New York upon a matter of business, and 
after a scanty breakfast, accompanied by his 
valet, he wended his way to the station. 


LIFE AT ROT ON BILL. 


85 


They had become accustomed to ignore the 
main road in their journeys to the town, and 
taking a path that ran from the rear of the 
house, they would walk over the fields, now 
hard and frozen, and passing through a little 
strip of woods they would reach the track of 
the railroad, and following this they would 
reach the station, thereby materially lessening 
the distance that intervened, and shortening 
the time that would be necessary to reach their 
destination. 

Placing the old gentleman safely upon the 
train, and with instructions to meet him upon 
his arrival home in the evening, Bucholz 
retraced his steps and prepared to enjoy the 
leisure accorded to him by the absence of the 
master. 

In the afternoon his tutor came, and he 
spent an hour engaged in the study of the 
English language, and in writing. Shortly 
after the departure of the teacher Mrs. Waring 
requested him to accompany her to a town 
,4 few miles distant, whither she was going 


86 


LIFE AT ROTON HILL, 


to transact some business, and he cheerfully 
consenting, they went oil together. 

Returning in the gathering twilight Bucholz 
was in excellent spirits and in great good 
humor, and as they neared their dwelling they 
discovered Sadie slightly in advance of them, 
with her skates under her arm, returning from 
the lake, where she had been spending the 
afternoon in skating. William, with a view 
of having a laugh at the expense of the young 
lady, when within a short distance of her, drew 
a revolver which he carried, and discharged 
it in the direction in which she was walking. 
The girl uttered a frightened scream, but 
William’s mocking laughter reassured her, 
and after a mutual laugh at her sudden fright 
the three proceeded merrily to the house. 

It was now time for William to go to the 
station for his master, who was to return that 
evening, and he started off to walk to the train, 
reaching there in good time, and in advance 
of its arrival. 

Soon the bright light of the locomotive was 
seen coming around a curve in the road, the 


LIFE AT ROT ON HILL. 37 

shrill whistle resounded through the wintry 
air, and in a few minutes the train came 
rumbling up to the station, when instantly 
all was bustle and confusion. 

Train hands were running hither and thither, 
porters were loudly calling the names of the 
hotels to which they were attached, the 
inevitable Jehu was there with his nasal ejacu¬ 
lation of “ Kerige!” while trunks were unloaded 
and passengers were disembarking. 

Bright eyes were among the eager crowd as 
the friendly salutations were exchanged, and 
merry voices were heard in greeting to return¬ 
ing friends. Rich and poor jostled each other 
in the hurry of the moment, and the wait¬ 
ing servant soon discovered among the passen¬ 
gers the form of the man he was waiting for. 

The old gentleman was burdened with some 
purchases of provisions which he had made, 
and in an old satchel which he carried the 
necks of several bottles of wine were protrud¬ 
ing. Assisting him to alight, Bucholz took the 
satchel, and they waited until the train started 
from the depot and left the trackway clear 


38 


LIFE AT ROTON HILL. 


The old man looked fatigued and worn, and 
directed Bucholz to accompany him to a saloon 
opposite, which they entered, and walking up 
to the bar, he requested a couple of bottles 
of beer for himself and servant. This evidence 
of unwonted generosity created considerable 
wonderment among those who were seated 
around, but the old gentleman paid no atten¬ 
tion to their whispered comments, and, after 
liquidating his indebtedness, the two took up 
their packages and proceeded up the track 
upon their journey home. 

What transpired upon that homeward jour¬ 
ney was destined to remain for a long time an 
inscrutable mystery, but after leaving that 
little inn no man among the curious villagers 
ever looked upon that old man’s face in life 
again. The two forms faded away in the dis¬ 
tance, and the weary wind sighed through the 
leafless trees ; the bright glare of the lights of 
the station gleamed behind them, but the 
shadows of the melancholy hills seemed to en¬ 
velop them in their dark embrace—and to one 
of them, at least, it was the embrace of death. 


CHAPTER III. 


An Alarm at the Farm-house .— The Dreadful An¬ 
nouncement of William Bucholz.—The Finding 
of the Murdered Man. 

rjpHE evening shadows gathered over Roton 
Hill, and darkness settled over the scene, 
The wind rustled mournfully through the leaf¬ 
less branches of the trees, as though with a soft, 
sad sigh, while overhead the stars glittered 
coldly in their far-off setting of blue. 

Within the farm-house the fire glowed 
brightly and cheerily ; the lamps were lighted ; 
the cloth had been laid for the frugal evening 
meal, and the kettle hummed musically upon 
the hob. The family of the Warings, with the 
exception of the father, whose business was in a 
distant city, were gathered together. Samuel 
Waring, the son, had returned from his labor, 
and with the two girls were seated around the 
hearth awaiting the return of the old gentleman 
and William, while Mrs. Waring busied herself 
in the preparations for tea. 


46 


THE FINDING 


“Now, if Mr. Schulte would come,’ said 
Mrs. Waring, “we would ask liim to take tea 
with us this evening ; the poor man will be cold 
and hungry.’’ 

“ No use in asking him, mother,” replied 
Samuel, “ he wouldn’t accept.” 

“It is pretty nearly time they were here/’ 
said Sadie, with a longing look toward the in¬ 
viting table. 

“ Well, if they do not come soon we will not 
wait for them,” said Mrs. Waring. 

As she spoke a shrill, startled cry rose upon 
the air ; the voice of a man, and evidently in 
distress. Breathless they stopped to listen—the 
two girls clinging to each other with blanched 
faces and staring eyes. 

“Sammy! Sammy!” again sounded that 
frightened call. 

Samuel Waring started to his feet and moved 
rapidly toward the door. 

“ It sounds like William!” he cried, “ some¬ 
thing must have happened.” 

He had reached the door and his hand was 
upon the latch, when it was violently thrown 


OF TEE MURDERED MAN. 


4i 


open and Bucholz rushed in and fell fainting 
upon the floor. 

He was instantly surrounded by the aston¬ 
ished family, and upon examination it was dis¬ 
covered that his face was bleeding, while the 
flesh was lacerated as though he had been struck 
with some sharp instrument. He had carried 
in his hand the old satchel which contained the 
wine purchased by Mr. Schulte, and which had 
been consigned to his care on leaving the depot, 
and as he fell unconscious the satchel dropped 
from his nerveless grasp upon the floor. 

Recovering quickly, he stared wildly around. 
“What has happened, William, what is the 
matter?” inquired Samuel. 

“ Oh, Mr. Schulte, he is killed, he is killed!” 

“ Where is he now ?” 

“Down in the woods by the railroad,” cried 
Bucholz. “We must go and find him.” 

Meanwhile the female members of the family 
had stood wonder-stricken at the sudden appear¬ 
ance of Bucholz, and the fearful information 
which he conveyed. 


TEE FINDING 


43 

“How did it happen?” mquired Samuel 
Waring. 

“Oh, Sammy,” exclaimed Bucholz, “Idon’t 
know. When we left the station, Mr. Schulte 
gave me the satchel to carry, and we walked 
along the track. I was walking ahead. Then 
we came through the woods, and just as I was 
about to climb over the stone wall by the field, 
I heard Mr. Schulte call out, ‘ Bucholz V ‘ Bu¬ 
cholz !’ It was dark, I could not see anything, 
and just as I turned around to go to Mr. Schulte, 
a man sprang at me and hit me in the face. I 
jumped away from him and then I saw another 
one on the other side of me. Then I ran home, 
and now I know that Mr. Schulte is killed. Oh 
Sammy ! Sammy ! we must go and find him.” 

Bucholz told his story brokenly and seemed 
to be in great distress. 

“If I had my pistol I would not run,” he 
continued, as if in reply to a look upon Samuel 
Waring’s face, “but I left it at home.” 

Sadie went up to him, and, laying her hand 
upon his arm, inquired anxiously if he was 
much hurt. 


OF THE MURDERED MAE. 


48 


“No, my dear, I think not, but I was struck 
pretty hard,” he replied. “But come,” he con¬ 
tinued, “while we are talking, Mr. Schulte is 
lying out there in the woods. We must go af¬ 
ter him.” 

Bucliolz went to the place where he usually 
kept his revolver, and placing it in his pocket, 
he announced his readiness to go in search of 
his master. 

“Wait till I get my gun,” said Samuel War¬ 
ing, going up-stairs, and soon returning with 
the desired article. 

Just as he returned, another attack of faint¬ 
ness overcame William, and again he fell to the 
floor, dropping the revolver from his pocket as 
he did so. 

Sammy assisted him to arise, and after he 
had sufficiently recovered, the two men, accom¬ 
panied by the mother and two daughters, 
started toward the house of the next neighbor, 
where, arousing old Farmer Allen, and leaving 
the ladies in his care, they proceeded in the 
direction where the attack was said to have 
been made. 


44 


THE FINDING 


On their way they aroused two other neigh* 
bors, who, lighting lanterns, joined the party 
in their search for the body of Mr. Schulte. 

Following the beaten path through the 
fields, and climbing over the stone wall where 
Bucholz was reported to have been attacked, 
they struck the narrow path that led through 
the woods. A short distance beyond this the 
flickering rays of the lantern, as they pen¬ 
etrated into the darkness beyond them, fell 
upon the prostrate form of a man. 

The body lay upon its back ; the clothing 
had been forcibly torn open, and the coat and 
vest were thrown back as though they had 
been hastily searched and hurriedly abandoned. 

The man was dead. Those glassy eyes, with 
their look of horror, which were reflected in the 
rays of the glimmering light; that pallid, rigid 
face, with blood drops upon the sunken cheeks, 
told them too plainly that the life of that old 
man had departed, and that they stood in the 
awful presence of death. 

Murdered! A terrible word, even when 
used in the recital of an event that happened 


OF THE MURDERED MAN. 


45 


long ago. An awful word to be uttered by the 
cheerful fireside as we read of the ordinary cir¬ 
cumstances of every-day life. But what hor¬ 
rible intensity is given to the enunciation of its 
syllables when it is forced from the trembling 
lips of stalwart men, as they stand like weird 
spirits in the darkness of the night, and with 
staring eyes, behold the bleeding victim of a 
man’s foul deed. It seemed to thrill the ears 
and freeze the blood of the listeners, as old 
Farmer Allen, kneeling down by that lifeless 
form, pronounced the direful word. 

It seemed to penetrate the air confusedly— 
not as a word, but as a sound of fear and dread. 
The wind seemed to take up the burden of the 
sad refrain, and whispered it shudderingly to 
the tall trees that shook their trembling 
branches beneath its blast. 

I wonder did it penetrate into the crime- 
stained heart of him who had laid this harm¬ 
less old man low ? Was it even now ringing 
in his ears % Ah, strive as he may—earth and 
sky and air will repeat in chorus that dreadful 
sound, which is but the echo of his own accus 


46 


FINDING THE BODY. 


ing conscience, and he will never cease to hear 
it until, worn and weary, the plotting brain 
shall cease its functions, and the murderous 
heart shall be cold and pulseless in a dishon¬ 
ored grave. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Tfu Excitement in the Village .— The Coroner's Invest 
tigation.—The Secret Ambuscade. 

gAMUEL WARING knelt down beside the 
form of the old man, and laid his trem¬ 
bling hand upon the heart that had ceased 
to throb forever. 

“He is dead l” he uttered, in a low, subdued 
voice, as though he too was impressed with 
the solemnity of the scene. 

Bucholz uttered a half articulate moan, and 
grasped more firmly in his nerveless hand the 
pistol which he carried. 

One of the neighbors who had accompanied 
the party was about to search the pockets of 
the murdered man, when Parmer Allen, raising 
his hand, cried: 

“Stop! This is work for the law. A man 
has been murdered, and the officers of the law 
must be informed of it. Who will go 

Samuel Waring and Bucholz at once volun- 

[ 47 ] 


48 


THE SECRET AMBUSCADE 


teered their services and started towards the 
village to notify the coroner, and those whose 
duty it was to take charge of sueh cases. 

Farmer Allen gazed at the rigid form of 
the old man lying there before him, whose 
life had been such an enigma to his neighbors, 
then at the retreating forms of the two men 
who were slowly wending their way to the 
village, and a strange, uncertain light came 
into his eyes as he thus looked. He said 
nothing, however, of the thoughts that occu¬ 
pied his mind, and after bidding the others 
watch beside the body, he returned to his own 
home and informed the frightened females of 
what had been discovered. 

The news spread with wonderful rapidity, 
and soon the dreadful tidings were the theme 
of universal conversation. A man rushed into 
the saloon in which the old man and Bucholz 
had drank their beer, and cried out: 

“The old man that was in here to-nighl 
has been murdered !’’ 

Instantly everybody were upon their feet. 
The old gentleman was generally known, and 


THE SECRET AMBUSCADE. 


49 


although no one was intimately acquainted 
with him, all seemed to evince an interest in 
the cause of his death. 

Many rumors were at once put in circulation, 
and many wild and extravagant stories were 
soon floating through the crowds that gathered 
at the corners of the streets. 

Samuel Waring and Bucholz had gone di¬ 
rectly to the office of the coroner, and informing 
him of the sad affair, had proceeded to the 
drug-store in the village, with the view of hav¬ 
ing the wounds upon his face dressed. They 
were found to be of a very slight character, and 
a few pieces of court-plaster dexterously ap¬ 
plied were all that seemed to be required. 

By this time the coroner had succeeded in 
impanneling a jury to accompany him to the 
scene of the murder, and they proceeded in a 
body toward the place. The lights from the 
lanterns, held by those who watched beside the 
body, directed them to the spot, and they soon 
arrived at the scene of the tragedy. 

The coroner immediately took charge of the 
body, and the physician who accompanied him 
3 


50 


THE SECRET AMBUSCADE, 


made an examination into the cause of his 
death. 

Upon turning the body over, two ugly gashes 
were found in the back of his head, one of them 
cutting completely through the hat which cov¬ 
ered it and cutting off a piece of the skull, and 
the other penetrating several inches into the 
brain, forcing the fractured bones of the skull 
inward. 

It seemed evident that the first blow had 
been struck some distance from the place where 
the body had fallen, and that the stunned man 
had staggered nearly thirty feet before he fell. 
The second blow, which was immediately be¬ 
hind the left ear, had been dealt with the blunt 
end of an axe, and while he was prostrate upon 
the ground. 

Death must have instantly followed this 
second crushing blow, and he had died without 
a struggle. Silently and stealthily the assassins 
must have come upon him, and perhaps in the 
midst of some pleasant dream of a boyhood 
home ; some sweet whisper of a love of the long 
ago, his life had been beaten out by the murder- 


THE SECRET AMBUSCADE. 


#1 


oas hand of one who had been lying in wait for 
his unsuspecting victim. 

From the nature of the wounds the physi¬ 
cian at once declared that they were produced 
by an axe. The cut in the back of the head, 
and from which the blood had profusely flowed, 
was of the exact shape of the blade of an in¬ 
strument of that nature—and the other must 
have been produced by the back of the same 
weapon. The last blow must have been a crush¬ 
ing one, for the wound produced was several 
inches deep. 

An examination of the body revealed the 
fact that the clothing had been forcibly torn 
open, as several buttons had been pulled from 
the vest which he wore, in the frantic effort to 
secure the wealth which he was supposed to 
have carried upon his person. 

In the inner pocket of his coat, which had 
evidently been overlooked by the murderers, 
was discovered a worn, yellow envelope, which, 
on being opened, was found to contain twenty 
thousand dollars in German mark bills, and 
about nine hundred and forty dollars in United 


52 


THE SECRET AMBUSCADE. 


States government notes. His watch had been 
wrenched from the guard around his neck, and 
had been carried off, while by his side lay an 
empty money purse, and some old letters and 
newspapers. 

Tenderly and reverently they lifted the 
corpse from the ground after this examination 
had been made, William Bucholz assisting, and 
the mournful procession bore the body to the 
home which he had left in the morning in 
health and spirits, and with no premonitory 
warning of the fearful fate that was to overtake 
him upon his return. 

The lights flashed through the darkness, and 
the dark forms, outlined in their glimmering 
beams, seemed like beings of an unreal world ; 
the bearers of the body, with their unconscious 
burden, appeared like a mournful procession 
of medieval times, when in the solemn hours of 
the night the bodies of the dead were borne 
away to their final resting-place. 

They entered the house and laid their 
burden down. The lids were now closed over 
those wild, staring eyes, and the clothing had 


THE SECRET AMBISCADE. 53 

been decently arranged about the rigid form. 
The harsh lines that had marked his face in 
life, seemed to have been smoothed away by 
some unseen hand, and a smile of peace, such 
as he might have worn when a child, rested 
upon those closed and pallid lips, clothing the 
features with an expression of sweetness that 
none who saw him then ever remembered to 
have seen before. 

After depositing the body in the house, 
several of the parties proceeded to search the 
grounds in the immediate vicinity of the mur¬ 
der. Near where the body had fallen a package 
was found, containing some meat which the 
frugal old man had evidently purchased while 
in the city. Another parcel, which contained a 
pair of what are commonly known as overalls, 
apparently new and unworn, was also discov¬ 
ered. An old pistol of the “pepper box” pat¬ 
tern, and a rusty revolver, the handle of which 
was smeared with blood, was found near where 
the body was lying. No instrument by which 
the murder could have been committed was 
discovered, and no clue that would lead to 


54 


THE SECRET AMBUS CAlJE 


the identification of the murderers was un 
earthed. They were about to abandon their 
labor for the night, when an important discov¬ 
ery was made, which tended to show conclu¬ 
sively that the murder had been premeditated, 
and that the crime had been in preparation 
before the hour of its execution. 

By the side of the narrow path which led 
through the woods, stood a small cedar tree up¬ 
on the summit of a slight rise in the ground. 
Its spare, straggling branches were found to 
have been interwoven with branches of another 
tree, so as to form a complete screen from the 
approach from the railroad, in the direction 
which Henry Schulte must inevitably come on 
his way from the depot. Here, undoubtedly, 
the murderer had been concealed, and as the old 
man passed by, unconscious of the danger that 
threatened him, he had glided stealthily after 
him and struck the murderous blow. 

These, and these only, were the facts discov¬ 
ered, and the question as to whose hand had 
committed the foul deed remained a seemingly 
fathomless mystery. 


THE SECRET AMBUSCADE. 


51 


Midnight tolled its solemn hour, and as the 
tones of the bell that rang out its numbers died 
away upon the air, the weary party wended their 
way homeward, leaving the dead and the living 
in the little farm-house upon the “Hill,” mem 
orable ever after for the dark deed of thia 
dreary night. 


CHAPTER Y. 


The Hearing before the Coroner.—Romantic Rumori 
and Vague Suspicions.—An Unexpected Tele¬ 
gram.—Bucholz Suspected. 

fJTVHE next day the sun shone gloriously over 
a beautiful winter’s day, and as its bright 
rays lighted up the ice-laden trees in the little 
wood, causing their branches to shimmer with 
the brilliant hues of a rainbow’s magnificence, 
no one would have imagined that in the gloom 
of the night before, a human cry for help had 
gone up through the quiet air or that a human 
life had been beaten out under their glittering 
branches. 

The night had been drearily spent in the 
home which Henry Schulte had occupied, and 
the body of the murdered man had been 
guarded by officers of the law, designated by the 
coroner who designed holding the customary 
inquest upon the morrow. 

To the inmates of the house the hours had 

\m 


BUCHOLZ SUSPECTED. 


51 


stretched their weary lengths along, and sleep 
came tardily to bring relief to their overwrought 
minds. Bucholz, nervous and uneasy, had, 
without undressing, thrown himself upon the 
bed with Sammy Waring, and during his 
broken slumbers had frequently started nerv¬ 
ously and uttered moaning exclamations of pain 
or fear, and in the morning arose feverish and 
unrefreshed. 

The two girls, who had wept profusely during 
the night, and before whose minds there flitted 
unpleasant anticipations of a public examina¬ 
tion, in which they would no doubt play promi¬ 
nent parts, and from which they involuntarily 
shrank, made their appearance at the table 
heavy-eyed and sorrowful. 

As the morning advanced, hundreds of tne 
villagers, prompted by idle curiosity and that 
inherent love of excitement which characterizes 
all communities, visited the seene of the mur¬ 
der, and as they gazed vacantly around, or 
pointed out the place where the body had been 
found, many and varied opinions were expressed 

as to the manner in which the deed was com- 
8 * 


58 


BUGHOLZ SUSPEOTBD. 


mitted, and of the individuals who were con¬ 
cerned in the perpetration of the crime. 

A rumor, vague at first, but assuming syste¬ 
matic proportions as the various points of in¬ 
formation were elucidated, passed through the 
crowd, and was eagerly accepted as the solution 
of the seeming mystery. 

It appeared that several loungers around the 
depot at Stamford, a town about eight miles 
distant, on the night previous had observed two 
conspicuous-looking foreigners, who had reached 
the depot at about ten o’clock. They seemed to 
be exhausted and out of breath, as though they 
had been running a long distance, and in broken 
English, scarcely intelligible, had inquired (in 
an apparently excited manner), when the next 
train was to leave for New York. There were 
several cabmen and hangers-on who usually 
make a railroad depot their headquarters about, 
and by them the two men were informed that 
there were no more trains running to New York 
tha* night. This information seemed to occa¬ 
sion them considerable annoyance and disap¬ 
pointment ; they walked up and down the plat- 


BUCHOLZ SUSPECTED. 


89 


form talking and gesticulating excitedly, and 
separating ever and anon, when they imagined 
themselves noticed by those who happened to 
be at the station. 

Soon after this an eastern-bound train reached 
the depot, and these same individuals, instead 
of going to New York, took passage on this 
train. They did not go into the car together, 
and after entering took seats quite apart from 
each other. The conductor, who had mentioned 
these circumstances, and who distinctly remem¬ 
bered the parties, as they had especially at¬ 
tracted his attention by their strange behavior, 
recollected that they did not present any tick 
ets, but paid their fares in money. He also re¬ 
membered that they were odd-looking and acted 
in an awkward manner. They both left the 
train at New Haven, and from thence all trace 
of them was lost for the present. 

Upon this slight foundation, a wonderful 
edifice of speculation was built by the credu¬ 
lous and imaginative people of South Norwalk 
The romance of their dispositions was stirred to 
its very depths, and their enthusiastic mind* 


60 


BUGEOLZ SUSPECTED . 


drew a vivid picture, in which the manner and 
cause of Henry Schulte’s death was successfully 
explained and duly accounted for. 

These men were without a doubt the emissa¬ 
ries of some person or persons in Germany, who 
were interested in the old gentleman and would 
be benefited by his death. As this story coin¬ 
cided so fully with the mysterious appearance 
of the old man at South Norwalk ; his recluse 
habits and avoidance of society, it soon gained 
many believers, who were thoroughly convinced 
of the correctness of the theory thus advanced. 

Meanwhile the coroner had made the neces¬ 
sary arrangements for the holding of the in¬ 
quest as required by the law, and his office was 
soon crowded to overflowing by the eager citi¬ 
zens of the village, who pushed and jostled *a,ch 
other in their attempts to effect an etUance 
into the room. 

The first and most important witr.aos was 
William Bucholz, the servant of the old gentle¬ 
man, and who had accompanied him on that 
fatal walk home. 

He told his story in a plain, straightforward 


BUCHOLZ SUSPECTED. 


%\ 


manner, and without any show of hesitation or 
embarrassment. He described his meeting Mr. 
Schulte at the depot; their entering the saloon, 
and their journey homeward. 

“After we left the saloon,” said Bucholz, 
who was allowed to tell his story without inter 
ruption and without questioning, “Mr. Schulte 
said to me, ‘ Now, William, we will go home ;* 
we walked up the railroad track and when we 
reached the stone wall that is built along by the 
road, Mr. Schulte told me to take the satchel, 
and as the path was narrow, he directed me to 
walk in advance of him. He was silent, and, I 
thought, looked very tired. I had not walked 
very far into the woods, when I heard him call 
from behind me, as though he was hurt or 
frightened, ‘ Bucholz ! Bucholz !’ I heard no 
blow struck, nor any sound of footsteps. I was 
startled with the suddenness of the cry, and as 
I was about to lay down the satchel and go to 
him, I saw a man on my right hand about six 
paces from me; at the same time I heard a 
noise on my left, and as I turned in that direc¬ 
tion I received a blow upon my face. This 


62 


BUGHOLZ SUSPECTED. 


frightened me so that I turned, and leaping over 
the wall, I ran as fast as I could towards the 
house. One of the men, who was tall and stoutly 
built, chased me till I got within a short distance 
of the barn. He then stopped, and calling out, 
‘ Greenhorn, I catch you another time/ he 
went back in the direction of the woods. He 
spoke in English, but from his accent I should 
think he was a Frenchman. I did not stop 
running until I reached the house, and calling 
for help to Sammy Waring, I opened the door 
and fell down. I was exhausted, and the blow I 
received had hurt me very much. ,, He then 
proceeded to detail the incidents which fol¬ 
lowed, all of which the reader has already been 
made aware of. 

He told his story in German, and, through 
one of the citizens present, who acted as inter¬ 
preter, it was translated into English. While 
he was speaking, a boy hurriedly entered the 
room, and pushing his way toward the coroner, 
who was conducting the examination, he 
handed to him a sealed envelope. 

Upon reading the meager, but startling, 


BUCHOLZ SUSPECTED. II 

contents of the telegram, for such it proved 
to be, Mr. Craw gazed at Bucholz with an 
expression of pained surprise, in which sym¬ 
pathy and doubtfulness seemed to contend for 
mastery. 

The telegram was from the State’s Attorney, 
Mr. Olmstead, who, while on the train, going 
from Stamford to Bridgeport, had perused the 
account of the murder of the night before, in 
the daily journal. Being a man of clear under¬ 
standing, of quick impulse, and indomitable 
will, for him to think was to act. Learning 
that the investigation was to be held that 
morning, immediately upon his arrival at 
Bridgeport he entered the telegraph office, and 
sent the following dispatch : 

“ Arrest the servant 

It was this message which was received by 
the coroner, while Bucholz, all unconscious of 
the danger which threatened him, was relating 
the circumstances that had occurred the night 
before. 

Mr. Craw communicated to no one thi 


04 


BUGHOLZ SUSPECTED. 


contents of the message he had received, and 
the investigation was continued as though 
nothing had occurred to disturb the regularity 
of the proceedings thus begun. 

Mr. Olmstead, however, determined to allow 
nothing to interfere with the proper carrying 
out of the theory which his mind had formed, 
and taking the next train, he returned to South 
Norwalk, arriving there before Bucholz had 
finished his statement. 

When he entered the room he found that 
Bucholz had not been arrested as yet, and so, 
instead of having this done, he resolved to place 
an officer in charge of him, thus preventing any 
attempt to escape, should such be made, and 
depriving him practically of the services of 
legal counsel. 

Mr. Olmstead conducted the proceedings 
before the coroner, and his questioning of the 
various witnesses soon developed the theory he 
had formed, and those who were present lis 
tened with surprise as the assumption of Bu- 
cholz’s guilty participation in the murder of 
his master was gradually unfolded. 


BUCHOLZ SUSPECTED . 


S3 


Yet under the searching examination that 
followed, Bucholz never flinched ; he seemed 
oblivious of the fact that he was suspected, and 
told his story in an emotionless manner, and 
with an innocent expression of countenance that 
was convincing to most of those who listened to 
his recital. 

No person ever appeared more innocent 
under such trying circumstances than did this 
man, and but for a slight flush that now and 
then appeared upon his face, one would have 
been at a loss to discover any evidence of feel¬ 
ing upon his part, which would show that he 
was alive to the position which he then occu¬ 
pied. 

His bearing at the investigation made him 
many friends who were very outspoken in their 
defense of Bucholz, and their belief in his entire 
innocence. Mr. Olmstead, however, was reso¬ 
lute, and Bucholz returned to the house upon 
the conclusion of the testimony for that day, in 
charge of an officer of the law, who was in¬ 
structed to treat him kindly, but under no cir- 


66 


BUOHOLZ SUSPECTED. 


cumstances to allow him out of his sight, and 
the further investigation was deferred until the 
following week. 


CHAPTER VI. 


The Misers Wealth .— Over Fifty Thousand Dalian 
Stolen from the Murdered Man.—A Strange 
Financial Transaction .— A Verdict , and the Ar¬ 
rest of Bucholz. 

jyj^EANTIME there existed a necessity for 
some action in regard to the effects of 
which Henry Schulte was possessed at the time 
of his death, and two reputable gentlemen of 
South Norwalk were duly authorized to act as 
administrators of his estate, and to perform 
such necessary duties as were required in the 
matter. 

From an examination of his papers it was 
discovered that his only living relatives con¬ 
sisted of a brother and his family, who resided 
near Dortmund, Westphalia, in Prussia, and 
that they too were apparently wealthy and 
extensive land-owners in the vicinity of that 
place. 

To this brother the information was imme- 

m 


68 


THE MISEHS WEALTH 


diately telegraphed of the old gentleman’s 
death, and the inquiry was made as to the 
disposition of the body. To this inquiry the 
following reply was received: 

“ To the Mayor of South Norwalk . 

“ I beg of you to see that the body of my 
brother is properly forwarded to Barop, near 
Dortmund, so as to insure its safe arrival. 
I further request that you inform me at once 
whether his effects have been secured, and how 
much has been found of the large amount of 
specie which he took with him from here ? 
Have they found the murderer of my brother ? 

Signed, “ Fredrick W. Schulte.” 

Had those who knew the previous history 
of Henry Schulte expected to have received 
any expression of sorrow for the death of the 
old gentleman, they were doomed to be dis¬ 
appointed, and the telegram itself fully dissi¬ 
pated any such idea. The man was dead, and 
the heirs were claiming their inheritance—that 
was all. 

Shortly after this a representative of the 


THE MISERS WEALTH. 


61 


German Consul at New York arrived, and, 
presenting his authority, at once proceeded 
to take charge of the remains, and to make 
the arrangements necessary towards having 
them sent to Europe. 

The iron box which had proved such an 
object of interest to the residents of South 
Norwalk, was opened at the bank, and to the 
surprise of many, was found to contain valu¬ 
able securities and investments which repre¬ 
sented nearly a quarter of a million of dollars. 

It was at first supposed that the murderers 
had been foiled in their attempt to rob as well 
as to murder, or that they had been frightened 
off before they had accomplished their purpose 
of plunder. The finding of twenty thousand 
dollars upon his person seemed to be convincing 
proof that no robbery had been committed, and 
the friends of Bucholz, who were numerous, 
pointed to this fact as significantly establishing 
his innocence. 

Indeed, many people wondered at the action 
of the State’s attorney, and doubtfully shook 
their heads as they thought of the meager evi- 


70 


TEE MISER'S WEALTH. 


dence that existed to connect Bucholz with the 
crime. A further examination of the accounts 
of the murdered man, however, disclosed the 
startling fact that a sum of money aggregating 
to over fifty thousand dollars had disappeared, 
and, as he was supposed to have carried this 
amount upon his person, it must have been 
taken from him on the night of the murder. 

Here, then, was food for speculation. The 
man had been killed, and robbery had undoubt¬ 
edly been the incentive. Who could have com¬ 
mitted the deed and so successfully have es¬ 
caped suspicion and detection ? 

Could it have been William Bucholz ? 

Of a certainty the opportunity had been af¬ 
forded him, and he could have struck the old 
man down with no one near to tell the story. 
But if, in the silence of that lonely evening, his 
hand had dealt the fatal blow, where was the 
instrument with which the deed was committed ? 
If he had rifled the dead man’s pockets and had 
taken from him his greedily hoarded wealth, 
where was it now secured, or what disposition 
had he made of it t 


THE MISERS WEALTH. 


71 


From the time that he had fallen fainting 
upon the floor of the farm-house kitchen, until 
the present, he was not known to have been 
alone. 

Tearful in his grief for the death of his mas¬ 
ter, his voice had been the first that suggested 
the necessity for going in search of him. He 
was seen to go to the place where he usually 
kept his pistol, and prepare himself for defense 
in accompanying Samuel Waring. 

He had stood sorrowfully beside that pros- 
trate form as the hand of the neighbor had been 
laid upon the stilled and silent heart, and life 
had been pronounced extinct. He had jour¬ 
neyed with Sammy Waring to the village to 
give the alarm and to notify the coroner, and 
on his return his arms had assisted in carrying 
the unconscious burden to the house. Could a 
murderer, fresh from his bloody work, have 
done this ? 

From that evening officers had been in 
charge of the premises. Bucholz, nervous, and 
physically worn out, had retired with Sammy 
Waring, and had not left the house during the 


72 


THE MISER'S WEALTH. 


evening. If he had committed this deed he 
must have the money, but the house was thor¬ 
oughly searched, and no trace of this money 
was discovered. 

His bearing upon the inquest had been such 
that scarcely any one present was disposed to 
believe in his guilty participation in the foul 
crime, or that he had any knowledge of the cir¬ 
cumstances, save such as he had previously 
related. 

Where then was this large sum of money 
which had so mysteriously disappeared ? 

A stack of straw that stood beside the barn 
—the barn had been thoroughly searched before 
—was purchased by an enterprising and ambi¬ 
tious officer in charge of Bucholz, and although 
he did not own a horse, he had the stack re¬ 
moved, the ground surrounding it diligently 
searched, in the vague hope that something 
would be discovered hidden beneath it. 

But thus far, speculation, search and inquiry 
had availed nothing, and as the crowd gathered 
at the station, and the sealed casket that con¬ 
tained the body of the murdered man was 


THE MISER'S WEALTH. 79 

placed upon the train to begin its journey to 
the far distant home which he had left but a 
short time before, many thought that with its 
departure there had also disappeared all possi¬ 
bility of discovering his assassin, and penetrat¬ 
ing into the deep mystery which surrounded 
his death. 

An important discovery was, however, made 
at this time, which changed the current of 
affairs, and seemed for a time to react against 
the innocence of the man against whom suspi¬ 
cion attached. 

In the village there resided an individual 
named Paul Herscher, who was the proprietor 
of the saloon in which the deceased and his 
servant had taken their drink of beer, after 
leaving the train upon the night of the murder. 

During the residence of Mr. Schulte at 
Roton Hill, Bucholz and Paul Herscher had 
become intimate acquaintances, and Bucholz 
had stated upon his examination that dur¬ 
ing the month of the previous October he 
had loaned to Paul the sum of two hundred 

dollars. That the servant of so parsimonious a 

i 


74 


THE MISER'S WEALTH. 


man should have been possessed of such a sum 
of money seemed very doubtful, and inquiries 
were started with the view of ascertaining the 
facts of the case. 

The investigation was still going on, and 
Paul was called as a witness. His story went 
far towards disturbing the implicit confidence 
in Bucholz’s innocence, and caused a reaction 
of feeling in the minds of many, which, while 
it did not confirm them in a belief in his guilt, 
at least made them doubtful of his entire ignor¬ 
ance of the crime. 

Paul Herscher stated that on the morning 
after the murder Bucholz had entered his 
saloon, and calling him into an adjoining 
room, had placed in his hands a roll of bills, 
saying at the same time, in German : 

“ Here is two hundred dollars of my money. 
I want you to keep it until I make my report 
to the coroner. If anybody asks you about it , 
tell them I gave it to you some time ago.” 

Here was an attempt to deceive somebody, 
and, although Paul had retained this money 
for several days, without mentioning the fact 


THE MISERS WEALTH. 


7$ 


of its existence, his revelation had its effect. 
Upon comparing the notes, all of which were 
marked with a peculiar arrangement of num¬ 
bers, and by the hand of the deceased, they 
were found to correspond with a list found 
among the papers of Henry Schulte, and then 
in the custody of his administrators. 

To this charge, however, Bucholz gave a 
free, full and, so far as outward demeanor was 
concerned, truthful explanation, which, while 
it failed to fully satisfy the minds of those who 
heard it, served to make them less confident oi 
his duplicity or his guilt. 

He acknowledged the statements made by 
Paul Herscher to be true, but stated in explan¬ 
ation that he received the money from Mr. 
Schulte on their way home on the evening of 
the murder, in payment of a debt due him, 
and that, fearing he might be suspected, he had 
gone to Paul, and handing him the money, had 
requested him, if inquiries were instituted, to 
confirm the statement which he had then made. 

That this statement seemed of a doubtful 
character was recognized by every one, and 


76 


THE MISER'S WEALTH. 


that a full examination into the truthfulness of 
his assertions was required was admitted by 
all; and, after other testimony, not, however, 
of a character implicating him in the murder, 
was heard, the State’s attorney pressed for 
such a verdict as would result in holding 
Bucholz over for a trial. 

After a long deliberation, in which every 
portion of the evidence was considered by the 
jury, which had listened intently to its relation, 
they returned the following verdict: 

“ That John Henry Schulte came to his death 
from wounds inflicted with some unknown in¬ 
strument, in the hands of some person or per¬ 
sons known to William Buckholz, and we do 
find that said William Bucholz has a guilty 
knowledge of said crime.” 

This announcement occasioned great surprise 
among the people assembled; but to none, per¬ 
haps, was the result more unexpected than to 
William Bucholz himself. He stood in a dazed, 
uncertain manner for a few moments, and then, 
uttering a smothered groan, sank heavily in his 
seat. 


THE MIS EH 8 WEALTH. 


77 


The officers of the law advanced and laid 
their hands upon his shoulder; and, scarcely 
knowing what he did, and without uttering a 
word, he arose and followed them from the 
building. He was placed upon the train to 
Bridgeport, and before nightfall the iron doors 
of a prison closed upon him, and he found him¬ 
self a prisoner to be placed on trial for his life.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


Bucholz in Prison.—Extravagant Habits cmd Sus* 
picious Expenditures.—The German Consul Inter¬ 
ests Himself.—Bucholz committed. 

OORROWFUL looks followed the young man 
as he was conducted away, and frequent 
words of sympathy and hope were expressed 
as he passed through the throng on his way 
to the depot, but he heeded them not. A dull, 
heavy pain was gnawing at his heart, and a 
stupor seemed to have settled over his senses. 
The figures around him appeared like the 
moving specters in a horrible dream, while 
a black cloud of despair seemed to envelop him. 

He followed the officers meekly, and obeyed 
their orders in a mechanical manner, that 
showed too plainly that his mind was wan¬ 
dering from the scenes about him. He looked 
helplessly around, and did not appear to realize 
the situation in which he was so suddenly and 
unexpectedly placed. 


[ 78 ] 


BUCHOLZ COMMITTED . 


71 


He experienced the pangs of hunger, and 
felt as though food was necessary to stop the 
dreadful pain which had taken possession of 
him, but he made no sign, and from the jury- 
room to the prison he uttered not a word. 

It was only when he found himself in the 
presence of the officials of the prison, whose 
gloomy walls now surrounded him, that he 
recovered his equanimity, and when he was 
ordered to surrender the contents of his 
clothing, or submit to a search, his eyes flashed 
with indignation, and the tears that welled up 
into them dropped upon his pallid cheek. 

With a Herculean effort, however, he recov¬ 
ered his strong calmness, and drawing up his 
erect figure he submitted in silence to the 
necessary preparations for his being conducted 
to a cell. 

But as the door of the cell clanged to, shut¬ 
ting him in, and the noise reverberated through 
the dimly-lighted corridors, he clutched wildly 
at the bars, and with a paroxysm of frenzy 
seemed as though he would rend them from 
their fastenings ; then, realizing how fruitless 


BUCHOLZ COMMITTED. 


were liis efforts, he sank upon the narrow bed 
in a state of stupefying despair. 

The pangs of hunger were forgotten now, he 
could not have partaken of the choicest viands 
that could have been placed before him, and 
alone and friendless he fed upon the bitterness 
of his own thoughts. 

In vain did he attempt to close his eyes to 
^he dreadful surroundings, and to clear his 
confused mind of the horrible visions that 
appalled him. The dark cloud gathered about 
him, and he could discover no avenue of 
escape. 

The night was long and terrible, and the 
throbbing of his brain seemed to measure the 
minutes as they slowly dragged on, relieved 
only at intervals by the steady tramp of the 
keepers, as they went their customary rounds. 
The lamp from the corridor glowed with an 
unearthly light upon his haggard face and 
burning eyes, while his mind restlessly flitted 
from thought to thought, in the vain attempt 
of seeking some faint relief from the shadows 
that surrounded him. 


BUCHOLZ COMMITTED. 


81 


All through the weary watches of the night 
he walked his narrow cell, miserable and sleep¬ 
less. Hour after hour went by, but there came 
no drooping of the heavy lids, betokening the 
long-looked-for approach of sleep. At length, 
when the darkness of the night began to flee 
away and the gray dawn was breaking without, 
but ere any ray had penetrated the gloom of 
his comfortless apartment, he threw himself 
upon the bed, weary, worn and heart-sick— 
there stole over his senses forgetfulness of his 
surroundings, and he slept. 

The body, worn and insensible, lay upon 
the narrow couch, but the mind, that wonder¬ 
ful and mysterious agency, was still busy— 
he dreamed and muttered in his dreaming 
thoughts. 

Oh, for the power to look within, and to 
know through what scenes he is passing now ! 

Leaving the young man in the distressing 
position of a suspected criminal, and deprived 
of his liberty, let us retrace our steps, and 
gathei up some links in the chain of the testi¬ 
mony against him, which were procured during 
4 * 


82 


BUCROLZ COMMITTED 


the days that intervened between the night of 
the murder and the day of his commitment. 

It will be remembered that he had been 
placed in charge of two officers of South Nor¬ 
walk, who, without restraining him of his 
liberty, accompanied him wherever he went, 
and watched his every movement. 

Bucholz soon developed a talent for spend¬ 
ing money, which had never been noticed in 
him before. He became exceedingly extrava¬ 
gant in his habits, purchased clothing for 
which he had apparently no use, and seemed 
to have an abundance of funds with which to 
gratify his tastes. At each place he went and 
offered a large note in payment of the pur¬ 
chases which he had made, the note was 
secured by the officers, and was invariably 
found to contain the peculiar marks which des¬ 
ignated that it had once belonged to the mur¬ 
dered man. He displayed a disposition for dis¬ 
sipation, and would drink to excess, smoking 
inordinately, and indulging in carriage-rides, 
always in company with the officers, whose 


BUCHOLZ COMMITTED. 


SS 


watchful eyes never left him and whose vigi¬ 
lance was unrelaxed. 

The State’s attorney was indefatigable in his 
efforts to force upon Bucholz the responsibility 
of the murder, and no means were left untried 
to accomplish that purpose. As yet the only 
evidence was his possession of a moderate 
amount of money, which bore the marks made 
upon it by the man who had been slain, and 
which might or might not have come to him in 
a legitimate manner and for legitimate services. 

The important fact still remained that more 
than fifty thousand dollars had been taken from 
the body of the old man, and that the murderer, 
whoever he might be, had possessed himself of 
that amount. It was considered, therefore, a 
matter of paramount importance that this money 
should be recovered, as well as that the identity 
of the murderer should be established. 

The case was a mysterious one, and thus far 
had defied the efforts of the ablest men who had 
given their knowledge and their energies to this 
perplexing matter. 

Mr. Olmstead, who remained firm in belief in 


84 


BUCHOLZ COMMITTED . 


Bucholz’s guilt, and who refused to listen to any 
theory adverse to this state of affairs, determined 
in his heart that something should be done that 
would prove beyond peradventure the correct¬ 
ness of his opinions. 

About this time two discoveries were made, 
which, while affording no additional light upon 
the mysterious affair, proved conclusively that 
whoever the guilty parties were they were still 
industrious in their attempts to avert suspicion 
and destroy any evidence that might be used 
against them. 

One of these discoveries was the finding of a 
piece of linen cloth, folded up and partly stained 
with blood, as though it had been used in wip¬ 
ing some instrument which had been covered 
with the crimson fluid. This was found a short 
distance from the scene of the murder, but par¬ 
tially hid by a stone wall, where Bucholz and 
Samuel Waring were alleged to have stood 
upon the night of its occurrence. 

The other event was the mysterious cutting 
down of the cedar tree, whose branches had 
been intertwined with others, and which had 


BUCHOLZ COMMITTED . 


80 


evidently been used as an ambuscade by the 
assassins who had lain in wait for their unsus 
pecting victim. 

Meantime, the German Consul-General had 
been clothed with full authority to act in the 
matter, and had become an interested party in 
the recovery of the large sum of money which 
had so mysteriously disappeared. With him, 
however, the position of affairs presented two 
difficulties which were to be successfully over¬ 
come, and two interests which it was his duty 
to maintain. As the representative of a foreign 
government, high in authority and with plenary 
powers of an official nature, he was required to 
use his utmost efforts to recover the property of 
a citizen of the country he represented, and at 
the same time guard, as far as possible, the 
rights of the accused man, who was also a con¬ 
stituent of his, whose liberty had been restrained 
and whose life was now in jeopardy. 

The course of justice could not be retarded, 
however, and an investigation duly followed by 
the grand jury of the County of Fairfield, at 
which the evidence thus far obtained was pre* 


86 


BUCHOLZ COMMITTED . 


sen ted and William Bucholz was eventually in¬ 
dicted for the murder of John Henry Schulte, 
and committed to await his trial. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


My Agency is Employed—The work of Detection begun, 

r J^HE events attendant upon the investigation 
and the consequent imprisonment of Buch- 
olz had consumed much time. The new year 
had dawned ; January had passed away and the 
second month of the year had nearly run its 
course before the circumstances heretofore nar¬ 
rated had reached the position in which they 
now stood. 

The ingenuity and resources of the officers at 
South Norwalk had been fully exerted, and no 
result further than that already mentioned had 
been achieved. The evidence against Bucholz, 
although circumstantially telling against him, 
was not of sufficient weight or directness to 
warrant a conviction upon the charge preferred 
against him. He had employed eminent legal 
counsel, and their hopeful views of the case had 

communicated themselves to the mercurial tem* 

rs7i 


88 


MY AGENCY IS EMPLOYED. 


perament of the prisoner, and visions of a full 
and entire acquittal from the grave charge un¬ 
der which he was laboring, thronged his brain. 

The violence of his grief had abated ; his 
despair had been dissipated by the sunshine of 
a fondly-cherished hopefulness, and his manner 
became cheerful and contented. 

It was at this time that the services of my 
agency were called into requisition, and the 
process of the detection of the real criminal was 
begun. 

Upon arriving at my agency in New York 
City one morning in the latter part of February, 
Mr. George H. Bangs, my General Superin¬ 
tendent, was waited upon by a representative 
of the German Consul-General, who was the 
bearer of a letter from the Consulate, contain¬ 
ing a short account of the murder of Henry 
Schulte, and placing the matter fully in my 
hands for the discovery of the following facts: 

I. Who is the murderer ? 

II. Where is the money which is supposed 
to have been upon the person of Henry Schulte 
at the time of his death ? 


MY AGENCY IS EMPLOYED. 




Up to this time no information of the par¬ 
ticulars of this case had reached my agency, 
and, except for casual newspaper reports, 
nothing was known of the affair, nor of the 
connection which the German Consul had with 
the matter. 

At the interview which followed, however, 
such information as was known to that officer, 
who courteously communicated it, was ob¬ 
tained, and my identification with the case 
began. 

It became necessary at the outset that the 
support of the State’s Attorney should be 
secured, as without that nothing could be suc¬ 
cessfully accomplished, and an interview was 
had with Mr. Olmstead, which resulted in his 
entire and cordial indorsement of our employ¬ 
ment. 

The difficulties in the way of successful 
operation beset us at the commencement, and 
were apparent to the minds of all. The murder 
had taken place two months prior to our re¬ 
ceiving any information concerning it, and 
many of the traces of the crime that might 


90 


MY AGENCY IS EMPLOYEE. 


have existed at the time of its occurrence, and 
would have been of incalculable assistance to 
us, were at this late day no doubt obliterated. 

Undismayed, however, by the adverse cir¬ 
cumstances with which it would be necessary to 
contend, and with a determination to persevere 
until success had crowned their efforts, the 
office was assumed and the work commenced. 

Mr. Bangs and my son, Robert A. Pinker¬ 
ton, who is in charge of my New York agency, 
procured another interview with Mr. Olmstead, 
and received from him all the information 
which he then possessed. 

Mr. Olmstead continued firm in his belief 
that the crime had been committed by Bucholz, 
and being a man of stern inflexibility of mind, 
and of a determined disposition, he was resolved 
that justice should be done and the guilty par¬ 
ties brought to punishment. 

Declining to offer any opinion upon the sub¬ 
ject until the matter had been fully investigated 
in the thorough manner which always charac¬ 
terizes my operations, it was decided to send a 
trusted and experienced operative to the scene 


MY AGENCY IS EMPLOYED . 


91 


of the murder, to obtain from all persons who 
possessed any knowledge of the affair every 
item of information that it was possible at that 
late day to secure. 

Accordingly, John Woodford, an intelligent 
and active man upon my force, was detailed to 
the scene of operations with full authority to 
glean from the already well-harvested field 
whatever material was possible, and from his 
reports the particulars as detailed in the pre¬ 
ceding chapters were obtained. The inquiries 
were made in the most thorough manner, and at 
the end of his labors every item of information 
connected with the matter was in our possession 
and the foundation was laid for a system of de¬ 
tection that promised success. 

The particulars of the case were communi¬ 
cated to me at my headquarters in Chicago, and 
I was resolved also to learn the antecedents of 
John Henry Schulte and his servant, in order to 
unravel the mystery which attended his appear¬ 
ance at South Norwalk, and to discover the re¬ 
lations which existed between the master and 


n MY AGENCY 18 EMPLOYED. 

the man who now stood charged with a foul 
crime. 

That this eccentric man, possessed of such 
large means, should thus have taken up his 
abode in a land of strangers, and should have 
lived the secluded life he did, was an added 
mystery in the case, which I resolved to become 
acquainted with. I considered this necessary, 
also, in order to discover some motive for the 
crime, if any existed except that of robbery, and 
to guide me in my dealings with any suspected 
persons who might thereafter be found. 

His brother was communicated with, and 
another operative was detailed to gather up the 
history of the man from the time of his landing 
in America. 

John Cornwell, a young operative in the ser¬ 
vice of my New York agency, was delegated for 
this service, and he performed the duty as¬ 
signed him in a manner which furnished me 
with all the information I desired to possess, 
and as the story contains much that is ot inter¬ 
est, I will give it here. 


THE HISTORY, 


CHAPTER IX. 

Doi tmund.—Railroad Enterprise and Prospective 
Fortune.—Henry Schulte's Love.—An Insult and 
its Resentment.—An Oath of Revenge. 

JJOW true it is, that in the life of every one, 
there exists a vein of romance which 
justifies the adage that “ Truth is stranger than 
fiction.” 

No page of history may bear their names. 
No chronicle of important events may tell to 
the world the story of their trials and suffer¬ 
ings. No volume of poetry or song may por¬ 
tray the sunshine and the storms through 
which they journeyed from the cradle to the 
grave. But in their quiet, humble lives, they 

r»3j 



94 


AN OATH OF REVENGE. 


may have exemplified the vices or virtues of 
humanity, and may have been prominent actors 
in unpublished dramas, that would excite the 
wonderment or the admiration, the sympathy 
or the condemnation of communities. 

The life of Henry Schulte evinces this fact, 
in a remarkable degree. 

The town of Dortmund in Prussia, in 1845. 

A quiet, sleepy, German town, in the Prov¬ 
ince of Westphalia, whose inclosing walls 
seemed eminently fitted to shut out the spirit 
of energy and activity with which the world 
around them was imbued, and whose five gates 
gave ample ingress and egress to the limited 
trade of the manufacturers within its limits. 

Once a free imperial city, it had acquired 
some importance, and was a member of that 
commercial alliance of early times known as the 
“ Hanseatic League,” but its prosperity, from 
some cause, afterwards declined, and passing 
into the hands of Prussia in 1815, Dortmund 
had slumbered on in adolescent quiet, undis¬ 
turbed by the march of improvement, and un¬ 
affected by the changes that were everywhere 


AN OATH OF REVENGE 


Ob 


apparent in the great world without ler boun¬ 
daries. 

This sober, easy-going method of existence 
seemed to be in perfect accord with the habits 
and dispositions of the people. The honest old 
burghers pursued the even tenor of their way, 
paying but little heed to the whirl and excite¬ 
ment of the large cities, and plodding on with 
machine-like regularity in their daily pleasures, 
and their slow but sure acquirement of fortune. 
Children were born, much in the usual manner 
of such events—grew into man and womanhood 
—were married, and they—in their turn, raised 
families. Altogether, life in this old town par¬ 
took very much of the monotonous and un¬ 
eventful existence of a Yan Winkle. 

Such was Dortmund in 1845. 

About this time, however, the wave of the 
advancing spirit of business activity had trav¬ 
eled sufficiently westward to reach this dreamy 
village, and a railroad was projected between 
Dortmund and the City of Dusseldorf. 

Dusseldorf, even at tnat time, was the great 
focus of railroad and steamboat communication. 


96 


AN OATH OF REVENGE. 


and situated as it was, at the confluence of the 
Dussel and Rhine rivers, much of the transit 
trade of the Rhine was carried on by its mer¬ 
chants. 

Here, then, was an opportunity afforded for 
such an added impetus to trade, such a natural 
increase in fortune, that it would readily be im¬ 
agined that the entire community would have 
hailed with delight an enterprize which prom¬ 
ised such important results, and that new life 
and energy would have been infused into the 
sluggish communities of Dortmund. 

Such was the case, to a very great extent, 
and a large majority of the people hailed with 
delight a project which would place their town 
in direct communication with the great cities of 
their own country and with all the ports of for¬ 
eign lands. But of this we shall speak here¬ 
after. 

On the road which led from Dortmund to 
Hagen, about fifteen miles distant, dwelt Henry 
Schulte, a quiet, reserved man, who had tilled 
the soil for many years. Of a reserved and 
morose disposition, he mingled but rarely with 


AN OATH OF REVENGE. 


W 


the people who surrounded him, and among hia 
neighbors he was regarded as peculiar and ec¬ 
centric. His broad acres evinced a degree oi 
cultivation which proved that their owner was 
well versed in the science of agriculture; the 
large crops that were annually gathered added 
materially to the wealth of their proprietor, and 
the general appearance of thrift about the farm 
denoted that Henry Schulte was possessed oi 
a considerable amount of the world’s goods. 

But while every care was taken of the fruit¬ 
ful fields, and every attention paid to the proper 
management of his lands, the cottage in which 
he lived, stood in marked contrast to its sur¬ 
roundings. A low, one-story structure, with 
thatched roof, and with its broken windows 
filled here and there with articles of old clothing, 
proclaimed the fact that its occupant was not 
possessed of that liberal nature which the gen¬ 
eral appearance of the farm indicated. 

There was an air of squalor and poverty 
about the cottage, which told unmistakably 

of the absence of feminine care, and of the 

5 


08 


AN OATH OF REVENGE 


lack of woman’s ministrations—and this was 
true. 

For many years Henry Schulte had lived 
alone, with only his hired man for com¬ 
pany; and together they would perform the 
necessary domestic duties, and provide for 
their own wants in the most economical manner 
possible. 

Many stories were told among the villagers 
about Henry Schulte, for, like most all other 
localities, gossip and scandal were prevailing 
topics of conversation. 

It is a great mistake to suppose that in the 
country, people may live alone and undis¬ 
turbed, and that anyone can hope to escape 
the prying eyes or the listening ears of the 
village gossip, male or female. Such things 
are only possible in large cities, where men 
take no interest in each other’s affairs, and 
where one man may meet another daily for 
years without ever thinking of inquiring who 
he is or what he does, and where you pass 
a human being without a greeting or even a 
look. In the country, however, where every* 


AN OATR OF REVENGE. 


09 


body knows everybody, each one is compelled 
to account to all the others for what he does, 
and no one can ever be satisfied with his own 
judgment. 

Notwithstanding the charm which exists 
in this communion of work and rest in word 
and deed, the custom has very serious draw¬ 
backs, and any person having good or bad 
reasons of his own for disposing of his time 
in a manner different from what is customary, 
has to contend against the gossip, the jibes 
and the mockery of all. Hence, almost all 
localities have their peculiar characters, whose 
idiosyncrasies are well known, and who are 
frequently the subject of raillery, and often 
of persecution. 

To the gay and simple villagers of Hagen, 
Henry Schulte was an object of great interest, 
and to most of them the story of his past was 
well known. Many of the old men who sat 
around the broad fire-place in the village inn, 
could remember when he was as gay a lad 
as any in the village, and had joined in their 
sports with all the zest and enthusiasm ol a 


100 


AN OATH OF REVENGE 


wild and unrestrained disposition ; and when 
he marched away to join his regiment, no step 
was firmer, and no form more erect than his. 

When he had waved adieu to the friends 
who had accompanied him to the limits of the 
town, and had bidden farewell to the tearful 
Emerence, his betrothed, who had come with 
the others ; many were the prayers and good 
wishes that followed him upon his journey. 
He was a great favorite with both the young 
and old people of Hagen, and no merry-making 
was considered complete without the company 
of young Henry Schulte and his violin. 

It was at one of the May-day festivals that 
Henry had met the beautiful Emerence, the 
daughter of old Herr Bauer, the brewer, and as 
their regard proved to be mutual, and the father 
of the young lady being propitious, nothing oc¬ 
curred to mar the pleasure of the young people, 
and the course of their true love flowed on as 
smoothly as the gentle river until Henry was re¬ 
quired to do service for his king and to enter 
the ranks as a soldier. 

It is needless to follow the young man through 


AN OATH OF REVENGE. 


101 


the various episodes of his soldier life, in which 
he distinguished himself for his uniform good 
nature, cheerful obedience of orders and strict 
attention to duty ; it is enough to know that at 
the expiration of his term of service he returned 
home, and was welcomed by the many friends 
who had known and loved him from his youth¬ 
ful days. 

It was at this time that the catastrophe oc¬ 
curred which changed the whole tenor of his 
life, and made him the reserved, hard man that 
we find him at the commencement of our story. 

In the village there lived a wild, reckless 
young man by the name of Nat Toner, who had 
just returned to his native place after an absence 
of several years, and who since his return had 
spent his time at the village tavern amid 
scenes of dissipation and rioting, in which he 
was joined by the idle fellows of the village, 
who hailed with delight the advent of the gay 
fellow whose money furnished their wine, and 
w hose stories of romantic adventure contributed 
to their entertainment. 

Nat was a bold, handsome fellow, whose curl 


102 


AN OATH OF REVENGE. 


ing black hair and flashing black eyes and wild, 
careless manner played sad havoc with the hearts 
of the young girls of Hagen, and many a comely 
maiden would have been made supremely happy 
by a careless nod of greeting from this reckless 
young vagabond. 

Not so with Emerence Bauer. Her timid, 
gentle nature shrank involuntarily from the 
rough, uncouth manners of the handsome Nat, 
and the stories of his extravagances only filled 
her mind with loathing for the life he was lead¬ 
ing and the follies he was committing. 

As she compared her own cheerful, manly 
Henry to this dissipated Adonis, whose roister¬ 
ing conduct had made him the talk of the vil¬ 
lage, she felt that her love was well placed and 
her heart well bestowed. 

To Nat Toner the aversion manifested by 
Emerence only served to create in him a pas¬ 
sionate love for her, and he was seized with an 
uncontrollable longing to possess her for his 
own. 

Up to this time he had not been informed of 
the betrothal existing between Emerence and 


AN OATH OF REVENGE. 


10S 


Henry Scliulte, and his rage and disappoint¬ 
ment on discovering this fact was fearful to be¬ 
hold. He cursed the young man, and swore 
that, come what would, and at whatever cost, 
he would permit no one to come between him 
and the object of his unholy affections. 

His enmity to Henry Schulte, which soon 
became very evident, was manifested upon 
every possible occasion, until at length Henry's 
universal good nature gave way under the re¬ 
peated taunts of his unsuccessful rival, and he 
resolved that further submission would be both 
useless and cowardly. 

Nothing further occurred, however, for 
some time, but fresh fuel was added to the fire 
of Nat Toner’s anger by an incident that he was 
an unobserved witness of. One evening he was 
returning home from the tavern, where he had 
been drinking with his companions till a late 
hour. His way led him past the residence of 
Emerence Bauer, and as he passed by upon the 
other side of the lighted street he witnessed tl e 
affectionate parting of Henry Schulte and the 
lady of his love. 


104 


AN OATH OF REVENGE. 


Setting his teeth firmly, his eyes flashing 
with the malignity of hate, he strode on, vow 
ing vengeance upon the innocent cause of his 
anger, who, with his mind filled with manj 
pleasant dreams of the future, pursued his way 
towards the little farm-house where he then 
dwelt with his father and mother. 

The next evening as Henry was passing the 
village tavern on his return from Dortmund, 
where he had been to dispose of some of the 
produce of the farm, he found Nat and his com¬ 
panions in the midst of a wild and noisy revel. 

Henry would have rode on unmindful of 
their presence, but Nat, spying his rival, and 
heated with wine, induced his companions to 
insist upon his stopping and drinking a glass of 
wine with them, which invitation Henry, after 
vainly attempting to be excused from, reluct¬ 
antly accepted, and, dismounting from his 
horse, he joined their company. 

After indulging in the proffered beverage, 
Henry seated himself with his companions and 
joined with them in singing one of those quaint 
Herman songs which are so full of sweetness 


AN OATH OF REVENGE. 


105 


and harmony, and which seem to fill the aii 
with their volume of rude but inspiring music. 

After the song was finished, Nat filled his 
glass, and rising to his feet said, in a taunting 
voice: 

“Here is a health to the pretty Emerence, 
and here is to her loutish lover.” Saying which 
he deliberately threw the contents of his glass 
full in the face of the astonished Henry. 

With a smothered expression of rage, Henry 
Schulte sprang to his feet and with one blow 
from his right hand, planted firmly in the face 
of his insulter, he laid him prostrate upon the 
floor. Quickly recovering himself, the infuri¬ 
ated Nat rushed at his brawny antagonist, only 
to receive the same treatment, and again he 
went down beneath the crushing force of that 
mighty fist. An ox could not have stood up 
before the force of the blows of the sturdy 
farmer, much less the half-intoxicated ruffian 
who now succumbed to its weight. 

Foaming with rage and bleeding from the 
wounds he had received, Nat Toner struggled to 
his feet the second time, and drawing a long, 

5 * 


106 


AN OATH OF REVENGE. 


murderous-looking knife from his bosom, he 
made a frantic plunge at his assailant. 

Quick as a flash, however, the iron grip of 
Henry Schulte’s right hand was upon the wrist 
of the cowardly Nat, and with a wrench of his 
left hand the knife was wrested from him and 
thrown out of the window. Then Henry, un¬ 
able to further restrain his angry feelings, shook 
his aggressor until his teeth fairly chattered, 
and, finally flinging him from him with an ex¬ 
pression of loathing, said: 

“ Lie there, you contemptible little beast, 
and when next you try to be insulting, count 
upon your man in advance.” 

Saying which, and with a quiet good evening 
to the astonished company, he walked out of 
the house, and mounting his horse, rode slowly 
homeward. 

The discomfited Nat slowly arose, and gain 
ing his feet, glared around at his wonder-strick¬ 
en friends, in whose faces, however, he failed to 
discover the faintest evidence of sympathy or 
support. 

These honest, good-natured Germans wew 


AN OATH OF REVENGE. 


107 


far too sensible and fair-minded to justify such 
an unwarrantable and unexpected insult as that 
which had been put upon one of their favorite 
friends, and consequently not one of the com¬ 
pany lifted their voice or expressed any regrets 
for the punishment which Nat had so justly re¬ 
ceived. Henry had, in their opinion, acted in a 
manner which accorded entirely with their own 
views upon such matters, and much the same as 
they themselves would have done under similar 
circumstances. 

Raising his clenched hand, and with face 
deadly pale, Nat Toner faced the silent group, 
and cried out, in the intensity of his passion: 

“ Henry Schulte shall pay dearly for this. 
As truly as we both live, I will have a full 
revenge, and in a way he little dreams of.” 

Uttering these words, he strode fiercely from 
the room, and disappeared in the darkness of 
the night. His companions, realizing that their 
pleasure for that evening was ended, silently 
took their leave, and wended their way to their 
several homes. 

How well Nat Toner kept his oath will her* 


108 


AN OATH OF REVENGE . 


after be seen, but many of the old men of 
Hagen yet recall with a shudder his dreadful 
words, and their fulfillment. 


CHAPTER X. 


A Curse.—Plans of Revenge, 

Nat strode onward to his home, after 
leaving his companions, his mind was in 
a chaotic state of excitement and rage. He was 
still smarting from the blows he had received, 
and the blood was flowing from his nostrils and 
lips. He paid no heed to this, however, for 
there was murder in his heart, and already his 
plans of revenge were being formed—plans 
which fiends incarnate might well shrink from, 
and from the execution of which even demoniac 
natures would have recoiled in horror. 

As he walked on, the dark, lowering clouds 
that had been gathering overhead, broke into a 
terrific storm of rain; the wind whistled and 
howled through the valleys, and from the 
mountain gorges the lightning flashed with a 
vividness almost appalling; but, undismayed 

by the storm and the tempest, which seemed at 

[ 109 ] 


110 


PLANS OF REVENGE . 


that time to accord with the emotions of 
his own wicked heart, Nat continued on his 
way, which lay past the unpretending, but 
comfortable farm-house, where, in the peace 
and contentment of a happy home, Henry 
Schulte dwelt with his parents. 

As he reached a point in the road opposite 
the dwelling of his hated rival, and from the 
windows of which the lights were gleaming 
cheerily, Nat stopped, and, unmindful of the 
drenching rain, he shook his uplifted hand 
at the inoffensive abode, and, in a voice 
choking with rage, cried: 

“Curse you, Henry Schulte! Be on your 
guard, for if I live, you will know what it is 
to suffer for what you have done this night. 
Enjoy yourself and your victory while you 
can, but there will come a time when you 
would rather be dead than the miserable thing 
I will make you. Curse you ! Curse you!” 

Having relieved the exuberance of his 
passion in this manner, he silently resumed 
his journey, and reaching his home retired at 
once to his room, and throwing himself upon 


PLANS OF REVENGE. 


Ill 


the bed, he gave himself up to the devilish 
meditations which filled his mind. 

Ah, Nat Toner, far better for you, for that 
happy village of Hagen, and for the future 
happiness of two loving hearts, if to-night 
the lightning’s flash had sent its deadly stroke 
through your murderous heart and laid you 
lifeless upon the road. 

As may be imagined, the news of the 
encounter between Henry Schulte and Nat 
Toner was noised about the village, and during 
the next day the matter became the universal 
theme of conversation. It was astonishing, 
however, to remark the unanimity of opinion 
which prevailed with regard to it. The 
entire community with one accord united in 
condemning the insult and applauding its 
resentment; anti when Nat Toner made his 
appearance the following day, bearing upon his 
face the marks of the punishment he had 
received, he was greeted with cold salutations 
and marked evidence of avoidanoe by those 
who heretofore had been disposed to be 
friendly, and even gracious. 


112 


PLANS OF REVENGE. 


This only intensified his anger at the cause 
of his humiliation, but he concealed his emo¬ 
tions and shortly afterwards returned to his 
home. 

The anxiety of Emerence for the safety of 
her lover was most profound, and trembling 
with fear of the threatened revenge of Nat 
Toner, for his oath had also been repeated, she 
besought Henry to be watchful and cautious 
of his unscrupulous adversary, all of which 
he laughingly and assuringly promised to do. 
Not so much for his own security, of which 
he had no fear, as for the sake of the dear 
girl who was so solicitous for his welfare, and 
to whom his safety was a matter of so much 
importance. 

The next few days passed uneventfully away, 
Nat remaining at home, nursing his wrath and 
the wounds upon his face, and Henry Schulte 
attending to his various duties upon the farm. 
The quarrel finally ceased to be a matter of re¬ 
mark, and the simple-minded villagers, believ¬ 
ing that Nat’s threats were only the utterances 
of a man crazed with drink, and smarting under 


PLANS OF REVENGE. 


118 


the punishment he had received, quieted their 
fears and resumed their ordinary peaceful and 
contented mode of living. 

To Nat Toner the days passed all too slowly, 
but with the slowly-moving hours, in the seclu¬ 
sion of his own home, and his own evil thoughts, 
his revenge became the one object of his life. 
His reckless, vagabond existence of the past few 
years, during which it was hinted by several of 
the villagers, with many shrugs of their shoul¬ 
ders and wise noddings of their venerable heads, 
he had been engaged in the service of a bold 
and successful French smuggler, had not tended 
to elevate his mind, or to humanize his disposi¬ 
tion. His depraved nature and vicious habits 
were roused into full action by this encounter 
with Henry Schulte, and the anger of his heart 
was in no wise lessened, as he reflected that he 
had brought his injuries upon himself. All the 
brutal instincts of his degraded disposition were 
aflame, and he resolved that his revenge for the 
indignities that had been put upon him, should 
be full and complete. 

With a fiendish malignity he determined to 


114 


PLANS OF REVENGE. 


strike at the heart of his antagonist through the 
person of the object of his love, and by that 
means to be revenged upon both. 


CHAPTER XL 


A Moonlight Walk.—An Unexpected Meeting. — The 
Murder of Ermerence Bauer.—The Oath Fulfilled . 

/^N a beautiful moonlight evening, about 
a week after the hostile meeting of 
Henry Schulte and Nat Toner, Emerence, all 
impatient to meet her lover, whom she had not 
seen for some days, and whom she fondly ex¬ 
pected this evening, left the residence of her 
parents and walked towards a little stream that 
ran along the outskirts of the village, where 
she had been in the habit of meeting Henry 
upon the occasions of his visits. 

The evening was a delightful one, and the 
scene one of surpassingly romantic beauty. 
The bright rays of the moon sparkled and 
danced upon the rippling water ; the border of 
grand old trees that fringed the bank of the 
stream was reflected with exaggerated beauty 
far down among the waters ; the glittering stars 
stole in and out among theii branches, and 

ni5] 


116 


THE MURDER 


shone in the clear crystal mirror. Now a 
fleecy speck of cloud floated over the face of the 
Queen of Night, from behind which she would 
soon emerge, with increased brilliancy, to dart 
her long arrowy beams away down to the peb¬ 
bly bottom of the flowing river, kissing the 
fairies that the old German legends tell us 
dwelt there in the days of old. 

Silently, but with happy heart and beaming 
eyes, the young girl gazed upon the scene that 
lay before her; then, walking to the center of 
the rustic bridge that spanned the stream from 
shore to shore, she leaned over the low railing 
and watched, with her mind teeming with 
pleasant visions of the future, her figure re¬ 
flected as in a burnished mirror, upon the 
water beneath her. 

Her sweet reverie was interrupted by the 
sound of approaching footsteps, and a blush 
illumined her face as she thought she would 
soon greet her coming lover, and feel his strong 
arms about her. Turning her head a little, she 
saw another shadow there so distinctly traced 
that she had no difficulty in recognizing it, and 


OF EMERENCE BAUER. 


117 


she started in affright as she discovered that 
instead of Henry Schulte, the new-comer was 
none other than his enemy and hers, Nat 
Toner. 

She would have yielded to an intuitive sense 
of danger, and fled from the spot, but Nat 
stepped quickly in the way and barred her 
passage, lifting his hat in mock reverence as he 
addressed her. 

“Good evening, pretty Emerence, you look 
like a beautiful water sprite in the rays of this 
bright-beaming moon.” 

Did she imagine it, or was there a cold, hard 
ring in the voice that uttered these words, 
which filled her heart with an aching fear, and 
made her lips tremble as she acknowledged his 
salutation ? 

“You are waiting for Henry Schulte, 1 
suppose!” he continued, in the same hard, 
mocking tone. 

Mustering up all the latent courage which 
she possessed, she looked up unflinchingly, as 
she replied : 

“I do not know that anyone has a right to 


118 


THE MURDER 


question me upon my movements, or to assign m 
reason for my actions.” 

“Indeed, my pretty little spit-fire! You 
speak truly, but Nat Toner intends to assume a 
right which no one else possesses,” answered 
Nat tauntingly, while his black eyes glistened 
in the moonlight with a baleful light. 

“ I cannot stop to listen further to such lan¬ 
guage, and must bid you good evening,” said 
Emerence, drawing herself up haughtily, and 
turning to leave the bridge. 

“ Stop where you are and listen to me,” 
cried Nat sharply, and with his right hand he 
grasped the wrist of the shrinking girl. 

“Nat Toner P’ at last said Emerence boldly, 
“remove your hand from my wrist, or I will 
<;all for help, and then perhaps your conduct 
will meet with its just punishment.” 

“Utter one word, at your peril. I have 
something to say to you, and you must listen to 
me,” said Nat, releasing his hold, and glaring 
fiercely at the brave girl who stood before him. 

“ I will listen to nothing further from you 
to-night. Stand aside and let me pass,” said 


OF EMERENCE BAUER. 


119 


Emerence firmly, and again turning to leave the 
bridge. 

44 Emerence Bauer, listen to me I say. I 
have something to tell you that concerns that 
lover of yours, Henry Schulte, and you shall 
hear what I have to say.” 

At the mention of Henry’s name Emerence 
stopped, and thinking that perhaps she might 
serve her lover by remaining, she said : 

44 1 will hear you, Nat Toner, but be as brief 
as possible.” 

44 Aha I for the sake of your dear Henry, 
you will listen to me. I thought so. Do you 
know that he is my enemy till death; that the 
insults which he has heaped upon me can only 
be washed away by blood; and that you, my 
my haughty beauty, alone can satisfy the hate 
I bear to Henry Schulte and the revenge I have 
sworn against him ?” 

44 Nat Toner, what do you mean?” trem¬ 
blingly inquired the affrighted girl, unable to 
stir. 

Ah, well might she tremble now! There was 
murder in the flashing of those wicked black 


12C 


THE MURDER 


eyes that glared upon her, and the distorted, 
pallid face before her showed too plainly the 
passions of his heart, as he answered: 

“ What do I mean ? I will tell you! I loved 
you, Emerence Bauer, and I hate Henry Schulte 
for the insult he has put upon me. You o"orn 
my love, and Henry Schulte must pay the pen¬ 
alty. He shall never possess you, for—I mean 
to kill you!” 

With a wild shriek, that rang through the 
air as the cry of a frightened bird, Emerence 
turned to flee from the fiend before her. But, 
alas, too late! The murderous weapon came 
down with a dull, heavy crushing sound upon 
that fair, girlish head, and she fell lifeless at the 
feet of the madman who had slain her. 

Without uttering a word Nat Toner lifted 
up the body of the unfortunate girl and threw it 
over the low railing of the bridge into the rip¬ 
pling water beneath. A splash followed that 
sent the water in brightly burnished crystals 
high in the air—and then the river flowed on, 
as though unconscious and uncaring for the bur¬ 
den that had been committed to its keeping. 


OF BATE FENCE BAUER. 


191 


Raising himself to his full height and shak¬ 
ing his blood-red hand in the direction of the 
village, Nat Toner cried out with demoniac ex¬ 
ultation : 

‘ fc Now, Henry Schulte, I am revenged 1” 

Saying which, he plunged into a strip of 
woods that grew near by, and disappeared from 
view. 

Oh, shimmering moon, did no pitying glance 
fall from thy cold, bright face as this fair, young 
life was cruelly beaten out by the hand of her 
brutal assassin? Oh, glittering stars, did no 
dark clouds intervene between thy merry twink¬ 
lings and the dreadful scene below ? And ye, 
oh, ripplihg river, did no murmur escape thee as 
the crimson tide of this fair dead girl mingled 
with thy transparent waves and floated away 
into the daikness of the night? 
f 


CHAPTER XH. 


The Search for the Missing Girl .— The Lover** 
Judgment.—Henry Schulte's Grief .— The Genial 
Farmer becomes the Grasping Miser. 

JJALF an hour later, Henry Schulte, who 
had been delayed beyond his wont in 
the village, came walking briskly along the 
road that led to the abode of Emerence. His 
heart was gay, and a blithe, merry song rose 
to his lips as he journeyed along. All uncon¬ 
scious of the dark deed that had been com¬ 
mitted, he stood upon the rustic bridge, where 
he had expected to meet his betrothed, and 
gazed at the beauty of the landscape that was 
spread before him. No sound came from that 
gurgling stream, to tell the impatient lover of 
the fate of her he loved, and little did he 
dream, as he stood there in quiet contemplation 
of the glorious night, that directly beneath his 
feet, with her calm, dead face upturned towards 
him, could be seen, through the transparent 

[ 1**1 


HENRY SCHULTE'S GRIEF\ 


123 


waters, the lifeless body of the fair maiden, 
whose head had nestled on his bosom and 
whose loving lips had made him happy with 
their kisses of love. 

Ah, nevermore for thee will the bright moon 
shine in its translucent splendor, and never 
again will you know the happiness and the 
peace of this beautiful evening, as you waited 
on that bridge for her who nevermore would 
come to your call again. 

After waiting a short time, and not hearing 
the footsteps of his affianced, Henry resumed 
his journey and soon arrived at the residence 
of the wealthy brewer, whose hospitable doors 
flew open at his knock, and the mother of 
Emerence stood in the low, broad passage 
way. 

“Where is Emerence?” quickly inquired 
the mother of the girl, in surprise, at seeing 
him alone. 

“Emerence! Is she not at home?” ex¬ 
claimed Henry, equally surprised. 

“No,” replied the mother. “She went 


124 


HENRY SCHULTE'S GRIEF. 


out about an hour ago, to meet you on the 

way.” 

Henry immediately became alarmed. He 
had not seen her, and it seemed incredible 
that she could have gone to visit any friends 
on the evening when she expected him, and 
certainly not without informing her parents 
of the fact. 

“ I will go at once in search of her,” he 
said, as he turned away from the house, and 
hurriedly retraced his steps towards the village, 
with a terrible fear for her safety pressing upon 
his heart. 

He inquired at every house where her friends 
resided, but everywhere was met with a won¬ 
dering negative. No one appeared to have seen 
her, or to know anything of her whereabouts, 
and at length, wearied with his fruitless in¬ 
quiries, and rendered almost desperate at his 
want of success, he went to the village tavern, 
and requested the aid of his comrades in search¬ 
ing for the missing girl, for whose safety and 
happiness he would willingly have laid down 
his life. 


HENRY SCHULTE'S GRIEF. 


123 


In a moment all was bustle and excitement; 
torches were procured and the party started 
upon their mission, resolved to discover some 
clue of the missing lady before the dawning of 
another day. Henry was in advance, and under 
his direction every part of the road which led 
from the residence of the brewer to the village, 
and the adjacent woods, were carefully exam¬ 
ined, but all with no success. No trace could 
be discovered, and the superstitious villagers 
began to regard the disappearance as a super¬ 
natural mystery. 

Utterly fatigued with their bootless investi¬ 
gation, and saddened by the thought that some 
harm must have come to the innocent maiden, 
they reluctantly left the house of the brewer 
and turned their footsteps towards the village, 
determined to continue their search in the 
morning. To Henry the suspense was agoniz¬ 
ing. He seemed almost crazed at the uncer¬ 
tainty which shrouded the fate of the girl he 
loved so dearly, and he vainly attempted to dis 
cover some solution of the awful mystery. 

As the silent party were crossing the bridge, 


.*6 HENRY SCHULTE'S GRIEF. 

they stopped for a temporary rest before pro¬ 
ceeding further on their way, and indulged in 
subdued conversation upon the mystery which 
thus far had defied their efforts to solve. 

Suddenly they were startled by an exclama¬ 
tion from one of their number, who, on looking 
casually over the railing into the stream be¬ 
neath, discovered in the bright reflection of the 
brilliant moon, the figure of the murdered girl 
lying in the shallow water. With an agonizing 
cry Henry sprang into the river, and in a few 
moments clasped the lifeless body in his strong 
arms and bore her to the shore. 

It was too true—the pale, beautiful features 
that met their frightened gaze were none other 
than those of the village beauty—Emerence, and 
a stillness like that of death fell upon the as¬ 
sembly as they looked upon her. 

At first it was supposed that she had been 
accidentally drowned, but upon the lights being 
brought, and that cruel blow upon the head 
being discovered, each one looked at the other, 
and the words burst almost simultaneously 
from the lips of all: 


HENRY SCHULTE'S GRIEF. 


ltt 


“ Nat Toner !” 

After the first cry which escaped him, 
Henry Schulte never spoke again during that 
painful time, but with reverent hands he 
smoothed the wet drapery about her shapely 
limbs, and closed the great staring eyes, which, 
when he last looked upon them, were full of 
love, and hope, and happiness—and then, as 
the men gathered up the fair form and bore it 
to her once happy home, he followed silently, 
and with faltering steps. 

It had needed no words from the villagers 
to tell him of the author of this crime. Before 
they had spoken, his own mind had discovered 
the murderer, and he had resolved upon the 
course to be pursued, and when, immediately 
after the sad funeral rites had been performed, 
and the body of the fair young Emerence had 
been placed in the ground, Henry disappeared 
from the village, one and all felt that the mis¬ 
sion he had gone upon was a righteous one, and 
no one disputed his right to go. 

At the end of a month he returned, but with 
a face so changed that he was scarcely recog- 


128 


HENRY SCHULTE'S GRIEF. 


nized. The happy light was gone forever from 
his eyes, and the hard stern lines about the 
mouth told the sad story of long suffering, 
and of a harsh judgment that had been ful¬ 
filled. 

No one questioned him upon his journey 
or its result, and he gave no explanations, but 
when some weeks later a party of hunters in 
the forests on the mountains, near Werne, 
discovered the lifeless body of Nat Toner, with 
his pistol by his side, and a bullet-hole through 
the low, white forehead, the villagers felt that 
Henry’s search had not been in vain, or his 
revenge incomplete. 

To this day no one can tell, whether, suffer¬ 
ing the pangs of remorse, the miserable man 
had put an end to his own life, or whether the 
wound in the low, white forehead was planted 
there by the man whom he had so dreadfully 
wronged. 

No inquiries were made, however, and as 
time passed on, the history of Nat Toner passed 
out of the conversations of the simple village- 
folk, and, save as it was occasionally recalled by 


HENRY SCHULTE'S GRIEF. 


Iff 


some romantic and unfortunate event abroad, 
was never mentioned. 

To Henry Schulte the record of that sad night 
was always present, and was never effaced from 
his memory. The change that was wrought in 
him was apparent to all. He no longer mingled 
with the villagers in their merry-makings, but 
isolated himself entirely from their meetings 
and their pleasures. 

A few years afterwards his parents died, and 
his elder brother assuming the control of the 
farm and estates of his father, Henry removed 
to the farm where we now find him, and to the 
lowly cottage which he had occupied to the 
time of which we write. He became a settled 
misanthropist, whose only aim in life seemed to 
be the acquirement of wealth, and whose once 
genial and generous nature had now become 
warped into the selfishness and avarice of the 
miser. 

So he had lived, a social hermit, until in 1845 
he had become a prematurely old man, with 
whitened hair and furrowed brow, whose love 
for gold had become the passion of his life, and 


130 


HENRY SCHULTE'S GRIEF. 


whose only companions were a hired man and 
fche old violin with which, in his younger days, 
he was wont to make merry music at the festi¬ 
vals in the village, but which now was tuned to 
mournful harmonies “cadenced by his grief 99 


CHAPTER XHI 


Henry Schulte becomes the Owner of “ Alte^i Hagen, n 
—Surprising Increase in Wealth .— An Imagined 
Attack upon His Life .— The Miser Determines 
to Sail for America . 

JT was at this time that the projected railroad 
between Dortmund and Dnsseldorf began 
to assume definite proportions, and as the line 
of the contemplated road lay through the 
village of Hagen, much excitement was 
engendered in consequence. 

The people of Dortmund were building 
extravagant castles in the air, and wild and 
vague were the dreams which filled their san¬ 
guine minds as they contemplated the advan¬ 
tages that were to accrue to them upon the 
completion of this enterprise. 

The contagion spread rapidly to Hagen* and 
the simple-minded villagers, who saw in this 
movement the rapid growth of their little 

town ; the possible increase in the value of 

[ 181 ] 


132 


AN IMAGINED ATTACK 


their property and the consequent augmenting 
of their now limited fortunes, hailed with 
delight the information that energetic opera¬ 
tions would soon be begun, with the view of 
successfully accomplishing the desired object. 

Not so, however, thought the Baron von 
Lindenthal, whose vast estate lay in close 
proximity to the village, immediately adjoining 
the farm owned and occupied by Henry 
Schulte, and through whose domain the road 
must necessarily pass. 

To him the idea of encroaching upon the 
ancestral acres of a von Lindenthal, was an act 
of sacrilege not to be complacently submitted 
to. The quiet and peaceful seclusion in which 
he and those who had preceded him had lived, 
and the repose of his declining years was to 
be disturbed by the whistling of the locomotive 
and the rattle of the train. The din, and bustle 
and activity of trade was to be brought to his 
very threshold, and the ease and comfort of 
his aristocratic retirement would soon become 
a thing of the past. This must not and could 
not be permitted, and the blood of the patrician 


UPON HIS LIFE. 


13* 


boiled within his noble veins as he contem¬ 
plated the outrage that thus threatened him, 
and which was to result in laying profane 
hands upon his possessions. Improvements 
were all very well in their way, but then they 
must not be of such a character as to interfere 
with the pleasure or the luxurious ease of the 
Baron von Lindenthal. His comfort and hap¬ 
piness were things to be considered far above 
the material growth of a commercial town, and 
were not to be subordinated to the welfare 
of its ambitious inhabitants. 

But then, as now, the march of public im¬ 
provement was not to be retarded, and so, find¬ 
ing it impossible to successfully oppose or to 
prevent the building of the objectionable rail¬ 
road, the incensed Baron very reluctantly deter¬ 
mined to dispose of his baronial estates and to 
remove to a more congenial locality, where the 
encroachments of trade were not to be feared, 
and where, in undisturbed seclusion and retire¬ 
ment, he might pass the remainder of his days. 

With the irascible and impetuous Baron, the 
jw/mation oi an opinion led to immediate action. 


134 


AN IMAGINED ATTACK 


and no sooner had he resolved to the satisfaction 
of his own mind to dispose of his broad acres- 
than he began to look about him for a purchase!. 

When Henry Schulte heard of this intention 
of the Baron, he determined, if possible, to be¬ 
come the owner of this extensive demesne. His 
mind was sufficiently alive to the importance of 
this railroad movement to convince him that the 
real estate in proximity to the line of the road 
must necessarily increase in value, and he algso 
realized the necessity of seeing the Baron with¬ 
out delay, in order to precede any of the rail¬ 
road contractors, who would no doubt present 
themselves ere long. 

He consequently waited upon the irate 
Baron on the morning following, and upon be¬ 
ing ushered into the presence of the last of the 
von Lindenthals, at once broached the subject 
of his desire to purchase the land. 

The gouty old land-owner looked with aston¬ 
ishment as his shabbily-dressed visitor prof¬ 
fered his request. He had never imagined that 
his unobtrusive neighbor was possessed of any 
money besides his farm, and the proposition to 


UPON HIb LIFE. 


m 

become the purchaser of “Alten-Hagen” was a 
complete surprise to him. 

The Baron did not know of the hours ot 
patient toil, nor of the habits of miserly econ 
omy which had enabled Henry Schulte to accu¬ 
mulate so large a sum of money as to warrant 
him in entertaining the desire to increase his 
estate ; nor did he know that his economical 
neighbor could see further into the future, and 
better appreciate the advantages which would 
accrue to him from the possession of this addi¬ 
tional property, than could their present aristo¬ 
cratic owner. 

However, the Baron lost no time in idle 
speculations as to the means by which his visi¬ 
tor had grown wealthy. His land was for sale, 
a purchaser stood before him, and in a short 
time the wealthy miser became the owner of the 
Baron’s land for a price entirely inadequate to 
the value which he received. When, a few 
weeks later, the question of appropriating the 
land and allowing the damage therefor came to 
be considered, the railroad company were re- 


136 


AN IMAGINED ATTACK 


quired to treat with the miser of Hagen instead 
of the Baron von Lindenthal. 

The wisdom and foresight displayed by 
Henry Schulte in becoming the purchaser of 
this estate was very soon clearly demonstrated, 
for in a very short time afterwards he received 
from the railroad company, as damages and for 
the right of way through his grounds, more than 
the sum he had originally paid to the impulsive 
Baron for the fee of the entire estate. 

A few years after this several coal mines 
were opened in the vicinity, iron works were 
erected, and as Hagen became a thriving, flour¬ 
ishing city it naturally extended its industries. 
Henry Schulte’s newly acquired property then 
became available for the erection of iron works 
and coal breakers, and his wealth was considera¬ 
bly increased by these means. A division of a 
part of his land into building lots, on the main 
road from Herdecke to Hagen, also swelled the 
volume of his increasing revenue. It seemed 
chat he had suddenly fallen upon the wave of 
advancing fortune, for soon after this some parts 
of the soil being found to be of excellent 


UrON HI8 L1FB. 


187 


quality for brick-making, he entered into ar¬ 
rangements with some extensive manufacturers 
and received a large sum for the use and occu¬ 
pation of his grounds for that purpose. 

Thus, in a very few years, the patient, plod¬ 
ding, avaricious farmer found himself one of the 
wealthiest men in the locality. This fact, how¬ 
ever, produced no change in his habits or his 
dress, nor did his mode of living undergo any 
improvement consequent upon the changed con¬ 
dition of his circumstances. This vast accumu¬ 
lation of money only seemed to intensify his 
avarice, to increase his meanness, and the desire 
for gain became the ruling passion of his heart 
and mind. He removed to the large and impos¬ 
ing mansion lately occupied by the Baron, but 
this was done simply because he could find no 
other occupant for it; while he could readily 
procure a tenant for the little cottage where he 
had previously resided. 

The effect of his presence there was soon 
made manifest, and only a short time elapsed 
before this beautiful residence presented an ap¬ 
pearance of negligence sadly at variance with 


138 


AN IMAGINED ATTACK 


the thrifty neatness that was everywhere appar 
ent during the time of its occupancy by the 
Baron and his family. The general air of neg¬ 
lect and squalor surrounding it proclaimed that 
the habits of the miser had been too firmly 
grounded to be easily disturbed, and that tne 
man remained the same, whether in the castle or 
the hovel. 

Indeed, it seemed that his reserve and isola¬ 
tion became more marked, and he dressed so 
shabbily that he scarcely ever appeared in other 
than soiled and ragged garments. His heart 
became harder and more grasping, and the few 
people who had known him in his younger 
days, and were disposed to be friendly, soon 
dropped away from him, finding it impossible 
to endure his harshness of manner and his 
penurious ways. 

His household now consisted of a house¬ 
keeper and a valet, the former an elderly 
woman, who had long been an object of charity 
to the people of Hagen, and whose services 
were procured by him at a mere nominal price, 
and the latter was a young, simple-minded 


UPON Hia LIFE. 


18* 


fellow, wlio performed the multifarious duties 
of a man-of-all-work, for a stipulated sum that 
barely sufficed for his needs, exclusive of the 
daily fare which he received from the hands of 
his economical employer. 

His administration of domestic affairs was 
in entire accord with his narrow-minded and 
contracted heart, and the servants found but 
little comfort while in his employ. He took 
sole charge of his domestic arrangements him¬ 
self, and to the patient and uncomplaining Mrs. 
Scheller would daily furnish the meager com¬ 
plement of beans and potatoes which were re¬ 
quired for the day’s consumption. The bal¬ 
ance of the store would then be religiously 
kept under lock and key to prevent any ten¬ 
dency towards extravagance on the part of 
those who served him. 

In addition to the various other investments 
possessed by him, he cultivated a large portion 
of the land acquired from the Baron, and, being 
a practical farmer, thoroughly understanding 
the advantage of drainage, he succeeded in re¬ 
deeming a great amount of land heretofore 


140 


AN IMAGINED ATTACK 


deemed worthless, and brought it to a high 
state of cultivation. 

His farming land consisted of several hun¬ 
dred acres, which required the employment of 
many men, and the large forests, with their 
apparently inexhaustible timber, furnished 
occupation for a number of woodmen, all of 
whom were under the supervision of the master. 
Here, too, his parsimony extended, and, while 
no efforts were spared to improve the quality of 
the land, and to increase the crops that were 
gathered, in every other respect his miserly 
nature exerted itself. 

The horses and cattle were lean and poorly 
fed, the buildings were out of repair, and a gen¬ 
eral system of rigorous and pinching economy 
was observed, all of which tended to the dissat¬ 
isfaction of those employed by him, but which 
in no wise affected the firmly-grounded avarice 
of their employer, who every day appeared to 
grow more harsh and unfeeling. 

He became grinding and pitiless in his deal¬ 
ings with those who were indebted to him, ex¬ 
acting full and prompt payment of all moneys 


UPON HIS LINE 


14) 


due to him, without regard to the straitened cir¬ 
cumstances of his debtors, or the destitution 
which frequently followed his summary means 
of enforcing his collections. 

The various cares and anxieties attendant 
upon the management of his affairs were often 
vexatious and annoying, and as time wore on he 
became exceedingly captious and irritable. His 
ebullitions of temper, which now became quite 
frequent, were vented upon the innocent heads 
of those who labored in his service, and much 
dissatisfaction was engendered in consequence. 
He became suspicious of all who surrounded 
him, and imagined that every one with whom 
he was connected were seeking to rob him, and 
finally an idea took possession of his mind, 
which completely destroyed his peace and made 
his existence perfectly miserable. He imagined 
that his life was in danger, and that there was 
a conspiracy formed to murder him for his 
money. 

So firmly did this conviction cling to him 
that he became intensely nervous and restless, 
and was scarcely able to sleep in his bed at 


142 


AN IMAGINED ATTACK 


nights. He would bolt and bar himself in his 
chamber so securely that it was a matter of per¬ 
fect impossibility to effect an entrance, and 
then, still doubtful, he would be wakeful and 
uneasy during the long, weary hours of the 
night, until from sheer exhaustion he would 
fall into a troubled sleep, which lasted late into 
the morning. 

Nothing occurred of a character to justify 
his suspicions or to increase his fears, until one 
morning he was awakened at a very early hour 
by the breaking with a loud crash of one of the 
windows that opened into his room. Instantly 
he was awake, and, springing from his bed, he 
rushed frantically to the window, discharged his 
pistol several times in succession, at the same 
time colling loudly for help. 

His cries alarmed his valet, who slept in a 
room communicating with that of his master, 
and who hastened at once to his assistance. It 
was too dark to discover anything of the cause 
of the breaking of the glass, and as no further 
demonstration occurred, he succeeded in quiet¬ 
ing the fears of his master, and restoring him 


UPON HT8 lira. 


141 


to tranquillity. As soon as it was daylight, he 
made an investigation into the cause of this 
seeming attack, and an examination of the out¬ 
side of the premises disclosed the fact that the 
alarm had been occasioned by the falling of the 
branch of an old tree that stood near to the 
house, and on which some of the limbs were 
withered and dead. 

This discovery, however, by no means allayed 
his fears or dissipated his suspicions, but, on the 
contrary, he became so fixed in the insane idea 
that he would be assassinated, that his life in 
the old home became a burden to him, and he 
longed for a change of scene that would ensure 
ease for his mind, and safety for his body. 

Henry Schulte was at this time an old man 
—the sixty years of his life had passed away 
slowly, but eventfully to him, and his whitened 
hair and wrinkled face betokened that age had 
left its indelible mark upon the once stalwart 
form of the Henry Schulte of days gone by. 
Elis head was generally bowed as though in 
deep thought, whether at home or abroad, and 
the broad shoulders seemed to have yielded to 


144 


AN IMAGINED ATTACK 


the weight of trouble which had come upon him 
in those early days. He was never seen to 
smile, and the hard, set lines about the mouth 
never relaxed, however mirthful was the scene 
before him, or however pleasurable the associa¬ 
tion in which he might accidentally find him 
self placed. His violin was his only companion 
during the long evening hours, and almost 
every night the harmonious strains of the music 
which he evoked from that instrument could be 
heard by those who journeyed upon the lonely 
road which passed in front of his house. 

In the early fall of 1877, an incident 
occurred, which, in the disordered state of 
his mind, rendered it impossible for him to 
remain any longer in fancied peace and 
security. 

One morning about daybreak a party of 
gunners, who were in search of game, were 
passing the premises occupied by Henry 
Schulte, when one of their number, a nephew 
of the old man, being the son of his elder 
brother, knowing his weakness in regard to 
being assassinated, and from a spirit of mischief 


UPON Hia LIFE. 


149 


which prompted him, took careful aim and 
fired directly through the window of the sleep¬ 
ing apartment of his uncle, and then quickly 
and laughingly passed on. The old gentleman, 
suddenly aroused from his slumbers, jumped 
up in affright, calling loudly in the excess of 
his terror: 

“Help ! Help! The villains have attempted 
to murder me again 1” 

Frank Bruner, his servant, being thus 
awakened, ran to the window and saw the 
party rapidly disappearing around a bend in 
the road. He recognized Bartolf Schulte as 
being one of the party, and informed his master 
of the fact. 

“Mein Gott! Mein Gotti” exclaimed the 
old man. “My own brother’s son try to take 
my life—this is horrible. He wants my money 
and he tries to kill me.” 

It was a long time before his violence 
subsided, but when at length Trank succeeded 
In calming his excitement and restoring him 
to reason, one idea seemed to have taken 
possession of him, and that was that he must 
7 


146 


AN IMAGINED ATTACK 


leave his home for his own safety, and that 
the sooner this was accomplished the bettei 
it would be for him and for his peace of mind. 

No inducement that could be offered was 
sufficient to disturb his resolution upon this 
point. No argument that could be suggested, 
but what was urged against this seemingly 
insane notion, but all to no avail. His mind 
was fully made up, and nothing could overcome 
the settled determination which he had arrived 
at, to get away at once from the place which 
threatened so much danger to his person, 
and in which he was in constant dread and 
fear. 

He therefore immediately began his prepara¬ 
tions for departure, and placing his property 
in the hands of a careful attorney at Hagen, 
he lost no time in converting his available 
securities into money and decided to take 
passage for America—a land of which he had 
heard so much, and which promised a rest for 
his over-wrought mind. 

He journeyed to Hamburg, and from thence 
in a few days, accompanied by his servant, he 


UPON HIS LIFE. 


U9 

took passage in a steamer, arriving in New 
York City, “a stranger in a strange land,” in 
the month of August in the same year. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


The Arrival in New York.—Frank Bruner determine* 
to leave the Service of his Master.—The meeting 
of Frank Bruner and William Bucholz. 

rjTHE vagaries of the human mind under all 
circumstances are frequently inscrutable, 
but under no other influence, perhaps, is the 
mind so susceptible of impressions of a govern¬ 
ing character from unimportant causes as it is 
when controlled by the fear of personal safety. 

It would readily be imagined that Henry 
Schulte, whose mind was filled with vague but 
distressing apprehensions for his life, could 
have found refuge, safe and unassailable, within 
the broad domain of his own native land, and 
that he might have considered himself free from 
impending danger if he could have placed even 
a short distance between himself and those 
whom he believed to be his mortal enemies. 
This, however, he found it impossible to do and 
rest contented; so, resisting all the arguments 

[H8j 


THE ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


149 


that were urged by his faithful but overtaxed 
servant and companion, and believing that his 
only safety lay in his getting away from his na¬ 
tive land, he persisted in coming to America, 
where he felt assured he would be free from 
persecution, and where, in the quiet and repose 
of rural retirement, his peace of mind would be 
undisturbed. 

That these fears must have been deeply- 
grounded there can be no doubt, for this old 
man, in leaving the home of his childhood and 
the many scenes which were endeared to him 
by the close association of early friendship and 
experience, turned his back upon the spot 
where he had first seen the light of day, and 
where he had grown from youth to manhood. 
Here, too, the joy and sorrow of his life had 
come to him, and in the little churchyard of the 
village, beneath the waving trees, reposed all 
that was mortal of the one great love of his life. 

Stolid and seemingly indifferent, so far as 
outward evidence gave any demonstration, of 
the many tender associations surrounding him, 
he left his native village and set off upon the 


150 


THE ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK, 


long journey that was to end in his death 
Speeding away from the imagined assassin, he 
journeyed directly to the presence and compan¬ 
ionship of the man who was to slay him. 

Taking passage upon a steamer bound for 
America, they were soon riding upon the broad 
bosom of the Atlantic, and after an uneventful 
voyage landed safely in New York. 

Not one of the many passengers of the vessel, 
or among the crowd that stood upon the pier 
and watched their disembarking, would for a 
moment have supposed that this old man, whose 
face gave evidence of the years through which 
he had passed, whose clothing showed too 
plainly the marks of long and hard usage, and 
whose general appearance resembled that of a 
beggar, was the possessor of wealth enough to 
render any of them independent of the world. 
Nor would they have thought that the worn and 
frequently-patched coat he wore concealed a 
sum of money equalling nearly a hundred thou¬ 
sand dollars. Yet such was the fact; for upon 
his person he carried fully this amount of mon¬ 
ey, most of which was in German mark bills. 


THE ARRIVAL W NEW YORK. 


151 


easily convertible into American money; and 
which, should the fact become known, would 
have been sufficient to excite the cupidity ol 
many of them, who would not hesitate to 
attempt the operation of relieving him of his 
hoarded wealth, and who might, pernaps, 
scarcely consider an old Iran’s life of sufficient 
importance to successfully interfere with their 
possessing themselves of his money. 

He had jealously guarded his secret and his 
treasure, and although his sleep was frequently 
disturbed by startling visions of robbery and 
murder, not one of the many who surrounded 
him suspected for an instant the wealth that he 
possessed. 

To his servant he was generally reticent, but 
not so excessively secretive, for Frank Bruner 
was well-informed of the extent of his master’s 
treasures, although he was not fully aware of 
the amount he had brought with him. 

Poor Frank led a miserable existence on that 
passage to New York, and many times after he 
had settled himself in his berth for a comfort¬ 
able night’s sleep he would be rudely awak^ *d 


152 


THE ARRIVAL IN NEW TORE. 


by his nervous and suspicious master, whc was 
continually imagining that somebody was forc¬ 
ing an entrance into his state-room. He would 
start up with affright, and nothing would allay 
his fears but a rigid examination of the premi¬ 
ses, which invariably resulted in finding nothing 
of a suspicious or fear-inspiring nature. 

Many times, upon remonstrating with his 
master about the groundlessness of his fears, he 
would be made to feel the heaviness of his hand, 
and chastisements were the reward of his devo¬ 
tion so frequently that his usually submissive 
spirit began to rebel, and Frank resolved to 
leave the service of so peculiar and so thankless 
a master upon the first favorable opportunity 
that presented itself. 

The journey, as we have said, was made m 
safety, and Henry Schulte, with his wealth in¬ 
tact, arrived in New York, and, seeking a 
quiet, comfortable hotel, he was directed to 
“ The Crescent,” where he soon wended his 
way, and to which he directed his servant to 
have his trunks conveyed without delay. 

The hotel which he had selected was a Ger- 


THE ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 15b 

man boarding-house, of modest dimensions and 
of unpretentious appearance. Over its doorway 
swung the faded sign of the Crescent, and over 
its destinies presided the portly, good-natured 
landlord, who dispensed the creature comforts 
to the limited number of guests who lodged 
beneath his roof. 

Henry Schulte entered the little room of the 
hotel which was used as a bar-room, and, pay¬ 
ing no attention to the other occupants, he 
seated himself at one of the tables, ordered a 
bottle of wine, which he proceeded to drink 
slowly until nearly finished, after which he 
pushed the bottle and glass towards his thirsty 
and longing servant and bade him consume the 
balance. 

Seated around the room in various attitudes, 
but all engaged in the occupation of smoking 
and drinking, were a number of men, all in¬ 
mates of the hotel, and all Germans, to whom 
the old man’s appearance naturally gave occa¬ 
sion for considerable curiosity. 

Several attempts were made to cultivate his 

acquaintance and to interrogate him upon the 
7* 


154 


THE ARRIVAL /2v NEW YORK . 


incidents of his passage over, but all of no avail 
He maintained a reserve that was impossible to 
overcome; his answers were given in monosyl 
lables, and, as but little encouragement was 
given to friendly converse, he was finally left 
alone to enjoy his musings. 

At an early hour of the evening he signified 
his intention of retiring, and, accompanied by 
his servant, he left the room and shortly after¬ 
wards went to bed. 

After attending to the requirements of the 
old gentleman, Frank Bruner returned to the 
bar-room and joined the group sitting around 
the table. His mind was fixed upon leaving a 
service that was distasteful to him, and in 
which he was made to feel the hand of the mas¬ 
ter too frequently and too heavily to be borne 
longer with submission or silence. He was 
anxious, therefore, to make some inquiries in 
regard to a change of position from those whom 
he supposed would be acquainted with the facts 
he was desirous of learning. 

While they were thus conversing, a young 
man entered, and after saluting those present in 


TEE ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


196 


a careless, off-hand manner, he seated himself 
among them. He was a tall, broad-shouldered 
young German, with blonde hair and smoothly- 
shaven face ; his eyes were large and of a light 
blue color. His cheek-bones were rather prom¬ 
inent, and when he laughed he displayed his 
teeth, which, being somewhat decayed, gave a 
rather unpleasant expression to the countenance, 
otherwise he was what might have ordinarily 
been considered a good-looking fellow. 

Upon seating himself, he was jocularly ques 
tioned by one of the number, in reference to 
some young lady, who was evidently known to 
them all. 

“Ah, William, how did you find the lovely 
Clara this evening V* inquired his friend, in 
German. 

William Bucholz, for that was the name of 
the new-comer, shrugged his shoulders, and 
with an amused expression upon his face, an¬ 
swered : 

“Oh, as well as usual, and quite as charm' 
ing.” 

And then, perceiving the presence of Frank, 


156 


TEE ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


he looked inquiringly at his friends, and added: 
“ Whom have we here ?” 

“ A young man who has just arrived from 
Germany,” was the reply. 

Bucholz immediately arose, cordially shook 
hands with the stranger, and engaged him in 
conversation. 


CHAPTER XY. 


The History of William Bucholz.—An Abused Aunt 
who Disappoints His Hopes.—A Change of For - 
tune.—The Soldier becomes a Farmer.—The Voy¬ 
age to Hew York. 


ILLIAM BUCHOLZ had been an inmate 



of the hotel for several weeks prior to 
this time, having arrived from Germany in 
the latter part of July. He was somewhat 
of a favorite with the people with whom he 
associated, and being of a free and jovial 
disposition had made many friends during his 
limited residence in the city. As he is to bear 
an interesting part in the sequence of this 
narrative a few words may not be out of place 
in regard to his antecedents. 

The father of Bucholz, who was a veterinary 
surgeon of some prominence in Schweigert, had 
reared his children in comparative comfort, and 
had provided them with a liberal education. 

The early years of young Bucholz had been 


[ 157 ] 


158 


THE HISTORY 


spent with an uncle, who was very fond of him, 
and delighted to have him near his person. 
This uncle was a brother of his father, and very 
late in life had married a lady of large fortune, 
but whose appearance was not at all prepos¬ 
sessing. As William grew into manhood he 
entered the army and became connected with 
the “ Brunswick Hussars.” 

Here he distinguished himself principally 
by leading a life of dissipation and extrava¬ 
gance, which made him an object of remark 
in his regiment. There were many wild spirits 
among his comrades, but none who displayed 
such an irrepressible and reckless disposition 
as William Bucholz. His uncle, loving him as 
a son, and whose union had been blessed with 
no children, forgave his follies and liquidated 
his debts without a murmur, but shook his 
head frequently in a doubtful manner, as 
rumors reached him of some new exploit in 
which William had been a leading spirit, or 
some fresh scandal in which he was a prominent 
participant. 

The family of Bucholz, with that weakness 


OF WILLIAM BUOHOLZ. 


150 


which sometimes characterizes the relative of 
the wealthy, soon began to display a coolness 
and dislike toward the wife of the uncle, and 
as no children were born to them, they looked 
forward with certainty to inheriting the vast 
wealth of their childless relative, without seem¬ 
ing to regard the rights or interests of the wife, 
who, in Germany as well as in America, fre¬ 
quently exercises a potent influence in the 
disposition of her husband’s affairs. 

That this conduct was displeasing to the 
woman who had brought so much wealth into 
the family may readily be imagined, and being 
possessed of sufficient spirit to resent the 
affronts put upon her, she did not tamely sub¬ 
mit to be thus ignored by the supercilious rela¬ 
tives of her husband, but determined to be re¬ 
venged upon them in a manner which she knew 
would be complete and satisfactory to herself. 

Among her numerous friends was the widow 
of a captain of hussars, who had been in the 
same regiment with Bucholz, but who had 
died a short time before, leaving his sorrow 
stricken wife without sufficient income for her 


160 


THE HISTORY 


support, and with the care of an only son who 
had been born to them in their brief married 
life. To this lady William’s aunt immediately 
offered her house as a home, and promised to 
take care of her child’s education and provide 
for its future. This offer was gratefully 
accepted by the bereaved and impecunious 
widow, who, with her child, soon became domi¬ 
ciled beneath the roof of the uncle and the 
socially abused aunt. 

As the boy grew into years he displayed so 
many traits of a noble, manly character and of 
a fond and loving disposition, that the hearts of 
the aged couple instinctively warmed towards 
him with an abiding affection, and the mothei 
dying soon after, he was formally adopted by 
them. 

The uncle continued, however, to supply the 
wants of his prodigal and degenerate nephew, 
but they increased so enormously that he was 
forced to remonstrate with the young man upon 
the recklessness of his conduct. His remon¬ 
strances were met with a spirit of impertinence 
and defiance that angered the old gentleman to 


OF WILLIAM BUOHOLZ. 161 

such an extent that he declined at once to pay 
any further debts of his nephew’s contracting, 
and limited his allowance to a sum which, while 
sufficiently large to provide for his actual needs, 
afforded no opportunities for lavish outlays or 
indiscreet dissipations. 

This action excited the ire of William and 
his family, who did not hesitate to ascribe it to 
the promptings of the wife, whom they had so 
consistently ignored, and whose feelings they 
had so frequently outraged. 

The relations between the brothers ceased to 
be friendly, and an estrangement took place 
which was increased by the family of Bucholz, 
who spoke every where in the most disrespect¬ 
ful terms of the wife of the brother. 

While matters were in this position the 
uncle was suddenly attacked with a malady 
which resulted in his death. After the funeral 
the will was opened, and it was found, to the 
mortification and disappointment of his rela¬ 
tives, that instead of leaving to them the bulk 
of his large furtune, he had bequeathed the 
major portion to his adopted son, and had only 


183 THE HISTORY 

left the sum of twenty thousand dollars to be 
divided equally among the six children of 
his brother. 

If the widow had desired to be revenged, she 
had succeeded admirably in her wishes, and the 
solemn countenances of the disappointed Buch- 
olzes, as they wended their way homeward after 
the reading of the will, from which they had 
hoped so much, would have been full satisfac¬ 
tion for the years of insult she had been com¬ 
pelled to endure from them during the life of 
her husband. 

This disposition of the estate of the uncle 
was a severe blow to those who had so confi¬ 
dently expected to have been enriched by his 
death, and produced a marked change in their 
manner of living. The bright, airy castles which 
they had builded, faded away—their hopes of 
prospective wealth were rudely dissipated, and 
the necessity for facing the actual position of 
affairs stared them in the face. William could 
no longer be permitted to lead the idle life of a 
soldier, and one and all would be compelled to 
labor for themselves. It was a bitter awaken- 


OF WILL/AM BUCHOLZ. 


1*1 


ing from a bright dream, but the man of theii 
hopes was dead, and their regrets were unavail 
ing. 

Bucholz, therefore, obtained an extended 
leave of absence, and in a short time entered 
into an engagement with an extensive farmer 
to learn the science of agriculture, and became 
domiciled beneath the roof of his employer and 
instructor. The dull routine of a farmer’s life 
was, however, illy suited to his impulsive dis¬ 
position, and although he had no manual labor 
to perform, he soon grew tired of the monotony 
of his existence and longed for a change. 

He had read of the wonderful success which 
attended the efforts of some of his countrymen 
who had emigrated to Australia, that arcadia of 
the agriculturist, and burning with a desire to 
seek his fortune in the new land of promise, he 
began to make inquiries of the place, its pro¬ 
ducts, and of the possibilities of successful 
operations while there. 

All the information which he gleaned was of 
such a character as to fill his mind with ambi¬ 
tious projects, and a desire to make his fortune 


164 


THE HISTORY 


in that far-off country, and he resolved to un¬ 
dertake the journey. 

His preparations were soon made, and ere 
many days he was afloat upon the heaving 
ocean, bound for New York, where he was in¬ 
formed he could procure a sailing vessel direct 
to Australia, at a cost much less than he could 
by any other process of travel. 

Arriving without accident in New York, he 
had taken up his quarters at “The Crescent 
Hotel,” and proceeded to make inquiries con¬ 
cerning the continuance of his journey. 

To his disappointment, however, he discov¬ 
ered that no vessels were likely to sail from 
New York directly to Australia, and the limited 
means he had brought with him were insuffi¬ 
cient for the expense necessary to travel over¬ 
land to a point of embarkation. He was there¬ 
fore compelled to delay his journey until he 
could receive sufficient funds to enable him to 
continue farther. He immediately wrote to his 
family for the money he required, and it was 
while awaiting their reply that he met Frank 
Bruner, the servant of Henry Schulte, whose 


OF WILLIAM BUCHOLZ. 


160 


acquaintance was destined to produce such a 
marked and dramatic effect upon his future 
life 


CHAPTER XVI. 


frank leaves the Service of his Master .— A Bowery 
Concert Saloon.—The departure of Henry Schulte . 
— William Bucholz enters the employ of the old 
gentleman . 

E left William Bucholz and Frank Bruner 



in conversation at “The Crescent Hotel.” 
The young Hussar who had been reared in lux¬ 
ury, whose life until this time had been a round 
of pleasure and gayety, and who had come to 
America to seek his fortune—and the servant of 
the strange and silent old man who had crossed 
the sea to escape the imagined dangers which 
threatened him and to find peace and comfort in 
his declining years. 

“You have just come over from Germany, J 
understand,” said Bucholz, addressing his com 
panion in German. 

“Just arrived to-day ” replied Bruner. 

“ Did you come alone ?” 


nee] 


A BO WERT OuACERT SALOON. 


167 


<fi Oh, no; I came with the old gentleman 
irho has just gone to bed.” 

“ Have you been long with him 1” 

“Long enough to want to get away from 
him,” was the reply. 

“What is the reason 1” inquired Bucholz, 
with some indi ition of surprise and curiosity. 

“Well, he ioee aot use me properly, and I 
have grown tired of his abuse,” answered Frank, 
sullenly. 

After further questioning him, Bucholz 
learned the story of the old man’s eccentrici¬ 
ties, the fact of his large possessions, and the 
probability of his extending his travels as far 
West as California. 

“ I would not leave him,” said Bucholz, after 
Frank had finished his narrative ; “he may not 
live very long, and he will no doubt do some¬ 
thing handsome for you.” 

“ I don’t care for that,” replied Frank Bru¬ 
ner ; “I would not continue many days longer 
in his service even if I knew that he would leave 
me all his money.” 

At that moment the sound of a cane struck 


168 


A BOWERY CONCERT SALOON. 


angrily upon the floor above them admonished 
Frank that his master desired his services, and 
also that he was in no pleasant humor. 

“There he goes!” cried Frank, “ and I must 
go to him or I shall feel the weight of his stick. 
Good-night.” 

“ Good-night 1” said Bucholz, extending his 
hand, “ I will see you again in the morning.” 

The young man turned and left the room 
and Bucholz seated himself apart from the rest 
of the company, apparently lost in profound 
meditation. Shortly after, he roused himself, 
as with an effort, and bidding his comrades 
good-night he went up stairs to his room. 

He did not immediately retire, however, but 
sat up until a late hour, revolving in his mind 
the information which he had just received and 
debating with himself as to his future course of 
action. 

The result of this mental consultation ap¬ 
peared satisfactory to him, and he undressed 
himself and went to bed. He would encourage 
Frank to leave his distasteful employment, and 
he would offer himself as an applicant for the 


A BOWERY CONCERT SALOON. 


169 


vacant position. He had no fears of the result, 
and felt no anxiety about the probabilities of his 
being made the subject of the old man’s castiga¬ 
tions. If the old gentleman designed going to 
California he would be so much nearer to the 
coveted place of his ambitious dreams, and he 
could very easily submit to temporary discom¬ 
forts in order to secure the practical benefits 
which he so much desired. With this comfort¬ 
ing reflection he closed his eyes and was soon 
fast asleep. 

In the morning he again met Frank Bruner, 
and the conversation of the night before was 
continued. Bucholz, without seeming to be 
anxious upon the subject, adroitly led the 
unsuspecting servant on in his dislike for his 
occupation, and he succeeded so well that 
before the day was passed, Frank had firmly 
resolved to inform Henry Schulte of his plans 
and of his intention to leave his service. 

In the evening, immediately after supper, 
he communicated his intention to his master, 
who received it with violent manifestations 
of disappointment and anger, and almost 
8 


170 


A BOWERY CONCERT SALOON, 


instantly retired to his room, locked his door, 
thereby denying admission to Frank, who was 
prepared to serve his irate master until he 
could provide himself with another servant. 

Finding himself left to his own resources, 
Frank cordially accepted an invitation to take 
a stroll with his newly-found associate, and 
putting on his hat he linked his arm in that 
of Bucholz, and they left the hotel together. 

Walking slowly on they soon came to the 
brilliantly-lighted thoroughfare in the Bowery, 
known as Chatham Street, and here their eare 
were saluted with the sounds of music, which 
emanated from the illuminated saloons, which 
lined the sidewalks at frequent intervals. 

Frank gazed with curious eyes at this phase 
of New York life, so new and startling to one 
whose early years had been passed in the rural 
simplicity of a German peasant, and as Bucholz 
stopped before one of these places and asked 
him if he would like to go inside, he made not 
the slightest objection. Quietly following his 
guide they found themselves within the walls 
of one of those gilded palaces of sin* that have 





































































































































































































































































































































































. 












* 

























A BOWERY CONCERT 8ALOON.] 171 

»o often proved the avenues through which 
many unsuspecting young men have entered 
upon a life of shame and dishonor. 

To Frank, however, the scene was novel and 
exciting, the music was exhilarating, and the 
“pretty waiter girls” were objects of curiosity 
and unfeigned admiration. Pushing their way 
through the crowded assembly, where men and 
women were engaged in drinking and indulging 
in loud and boisterous laughter, they reached 
a position in front of a stage that had been 
erected in the rear end of the hall, and before 
which hung a gaudily-pain ted curtain, w T hich 
hid from the spectators the mysteries and 
perhaps the miseries that lay beyond. 

Bucholz appeared to be perfectly at home 
among this mixed assemblage, and nodded 
familiarly to right and left in recognition of 
numerous friends and acquaintances. Pres¬ 
ently a buxom-looking German girl, whose rosy 
cheeks and rotund figure gave evidence that her 
life in this place had been of short duration, ad¬ 
vanced towards them, and, seating herself be¬ 
side Bucholz, bade him good evening, in a tone 


.72 


4 BOWERY CONCERT SALOON 


of familiarity which betokened a long, or, at 
least, a well-understood acquaintance. 

To the young man who accompanied Bucholz 
there seemed to be a fascination in the glitter of 
his present surroundings, and he instinctively 
began to feel envious of his more fortunate 
companion, who appeared so much at his ease, 
and whose intimacy with the Teutonic siren 
was so much to be admired. 

During the progress of the mixed entertain¬ 
ment that followed, in which dancing and sing¬ 
ing, banjo playing, and a liberal display of the 
anatomy of the female “artists” formed the 
principal features, they sipped their beer and 
applauded loudly the efforts of those who min¬ 
istered to their enjoyment. 

Upon the conclusion of the performance, 
they returned to their hotel, and Frank 
Bruner’s mind was more firmly settled in his 
determination to leave the service of Henry 
Schulte, and to find employment in the city, 
where such pleasures would be open to him at 
all times. 


A BOWERY CONCERT SALOON. 


173 


On their walk homeward to the hotel Prank 
again mentioned his resolve to Bucholz. 

“I think you are very foolish,” was the re¬ 
ply. “ The old man has lots of money, and if I 
was in your place I would do very different.” 

Frank was immovable, however, and the 
words of his companion produced no effect 
upon his mind. 

The next morning Mr. Schulte endeavored 
in ^ain to induce Frank to change his determi¬ 
nation, and at last, finding it impossible to do 
so, he paid him the amount that was due to 
him and dispensed, rather reluctantly, with 
his further services. 

A few days after this, having completed the 
business which detained him in New York, tne 
old gentleman announced his intention of de¬ 
parting, and, having his baggage transferred to 
the coach, he started for the depot, leaving 
Frank behind him, who now half regretted 
having so suddenly sundered his relations with 
his eccentric employer. 

Bucholz’s opportunity had now arrived, and 
jumping into the coach, he took his seat beside 


174 


A BOWERY CONCERT SALOON. 


the old gentleman, whose acquaintance he had 
cultivated during his brief sojourn at the hotel. 

“You are going away, Mr. Schulte?” said 
Bucholz. 

The old man nodded his head affirmatively, 
but made no audible reply. 

“Which way are you going?” asked Bu¬ 
cholz, unabashed by the manner of the other. 

“I am going down to South Norwalk, in 
Connecticut, to buy a farm which was adver¬ 
tised for sale there,” answered Mr. Schulte. 

“Where is Frank?” asked Bucholz, as 
though in ignorance of their separation. “Is 
he not going with you ?” 

“ Frank is no longer in my employ. I have 
discharged him, and he must now look out for 
himself.” 

“Don’t you want somebody to take his 
place?” said Bucholz, eagerly. 

“Yes, but I will get some one down there, I 
guess,” replied the old man, as though he did 
not desire to talk any further about his allairs. 

“Don’t you think I would suit you, Mr. 
Schulte ? I have nothing to do, and would be 


A BOWERY CONCERT SALOON. 


178 


very glad to take the place,” urged Bucholz. 
The old gentleman looked np in surprise at this 
question, and said: 

“You would not come for such wages as 1 
would pay.” 

He named a sum ridiculously small, but Bu- 
cholz announced his perfect willingness to ac¬ 
cept the position at the remuneration offered. 

The old gentleman revolved the question in 
his mind for a few moments, gazing somewhat 
suspiciously at the young man the while, and 
at length said to Bucholz, who was anxiously 
awaiting his decision: 

“Well, you may come along and see how 
you will like it. If it does not suit you, you 
can return, and we can make our arrangements 
afterward.” 

The matter was thus disposed of, and Wil¬ 
liam Bucholz journeyed to South Norwalk with 
his employer. The gay soldier had become the 
humble servant, the prospective farmer had 
been transformed into the obsequious valet. 

These two men had journeyed across the seas, 
for a far-off land, and thus had strangely met, 


17e A BOWERY CONCERT SALOON 

The web of fate had woven itself around their 
two lives, and the compact this day made was 
only to be severed by the death, sudden and 
mysterious, of the eldest party to the agree¬ 
ment. 

Who could have told that before many months 
had rolled away, that old man would have been 
brutally beaten to death, and that the bright- 
faced young man who sued for his favor would 
be sitting in a lonely cell under the dreadful 
charge of committing the foul deed! 

Perhaps could either have glanced with pro¬ 
phetic vision into the future, their paths, by mu¬ 
tual consent, would have widely diverged, and 
their intimacy have ceased forever on that Au¬ 
gust afternoon. 


THE DETECTION, 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The Detective.—His Experience and His Practice .— 
A Plan of Detection Perfected — The Work is 
Begun, 

rj^HE detective occupies a peculiar position in 
society, and is a prominent actor in many 
scenes of which the general public can have no 
knowledge. In his breast may be locked the 
secrets of many men who stand in proud pre¬ 
eminence before the public, and who are ad¬ 
mired and respected for the possession of vir¬ 
tues that are but the cloak with which they 
hide the baser elements of their dispositions. 

The canting hypocrite, whose voice may be 

loudest in chapel or meeting-house, and whose 
8 * [ 177 ] 



178 


TEE DETECTIVE. 


sanctimonious air and solemn visage will covei 
the sins of his heart to the general observer, is 
well known to the detective, who has seen that 
same face pale with apprehension, and has heard 
that same voice trembling with the fear of ex¬ 
posure. 

That dapper young gentleman, who twirls 
his moustache and swings his cane so jauntily 
upon the promenade, is an object of admiration 
to many; but to the man who knows the secrets 
of his inner life another scene is opened, and he 
remembers when this same exquisite walked the 
cell of a prison—a convict guilty of a crime. 

Through all the various grades of society the 
detective has wended his way, and he has looked 
into men’s hearts when infamy stared them in 
the face and dishonor impended over them. 

His experience has rendered him almost in¬ 
capable of surprise, or mobility of feeling. He 
is ever watchful for the deceptiveness of appear¬ 
ances, ever prepared to admit everything, to 
explain everything, and to believe nothing— 
but what he sees. 

The judicial officer, with the nicety and legal 


THE DETECTIVE . 


17t 


acumen of a thorough jurist, applies the techni¬ 
calities of the law to the testimony submitted to 
him, but the detective observes with caution, 
and watches with suspicion all the odious com¬ 
binations and, circumstances which the law with 
all the power at its command cannot success¬ 
fully reach. 

He is made the unwilling, but necessary re¬ 
cipient of disgraceful details; of domestic 
crimes, and even of tolerated vices with which 
the law cannot deal. 

If, when he entered upon his office, his mind 
teemed with illusions in regard to humanity, 
the experience of a year has dissipated them to 
the winds. 

If he does not eventually become skeptical 
of the whole human race, it is because his expe¬ 
rience has shown him that honor and vice may 
walk side by side without contamination ; that 
virtue and crime may be closely connected, and 
yet no stain be left upon the white robe of pu¬ 
rity, and that while upon the one hand he sees 
abominations indulged in with impunity, upon 
the other, he witnesses a sublime generosity 


180 


TEE DETECTIVE. 


which cannot be weakened or crushed. The 
modest violet may exhale its fragrance through 
an overgrowth of noxious weeds—and humanity 
bears out the simile. 

He sees with contempt the proud bearing of 
the impudent scoundrels who are unjustly re¬ 
ceiving public respect, but he sees also with 
pleasure many heroes in the modest and obscure 
walks of life, who deserve the rich rewards 
which they never receive. 

He has so often pierced beneath the shining 
mask of virtue and discovered the distorted vis¬ 
age of vice, that he has almost reached a state 
of general doubtfulness until results shall dem¬ 
onstrate the correctness of his theories. He be¬ 
lieves in nothing until it is proven—not in ab¬ 
solute evil more than in absolute good, and the 
results of his teachings have brought him to the 
conclusion that not men but events alone are 
worthy of consideration. 

A knowledge of human nature is as neces¬ 
sary to him as that he shall have eyes and 
ears, and this knowledge experience alone can 
give. 


THE DETECTIVE 


181 


In my eventful career as a detective, extend* 
ing over a period of thirty years of active 
practice, my experience has been of such a 
character as to lead me to pay no attention 
to the outward appearance of men or things. 
The burglar does not commit his depredations 
in the open light of day, nor in the full view 
of the spectator. Nor does the murderer 
usually select the brilliantly-lighted highway 
to strike the fatal blow. Quietly and secretly, 
and with every imagined precaution against 
detection, the criminal acts, and it is only by 
equally secretive ways that he can be reached. 

Weeks and months may elapse before he 
is finally brought to bay, but I have never 
known it to fail, at least in my experience, 
that detection will follow crime as surely as 
the shadow will follow a moving body in the 
glare of sunlight. 

From the facts collected by my operatives, 
and from every other available source, I was 
now put into possession of every point in the 
case of the murder of Henry Schulte, that could 
be arrived at, and we were prepared to define 


183 


THE DETECTIVE. 


a plan of operation, which, if strictly adhered 
to, bore the impress of promised success. 

An old man had been foully murdered, and 
his body had been robbed of a large sum of 
money. Money, therefore, was the cause of 
the murder, and the recovery and identification 
of this would undoubtedly lead to the discovery 
of the criminal. 

The matter, with all its attendant facts, was 
placed in the hands of Mr. Bangs, my general 
superintendent, and of my son, Robert A. 
Pinkerton, who resolved to succeed in the 
umdertaking if success were possible. 

The details of our proposed line of action 
were submitted to the German Consul-General 
and to the State’s attorney, Mr. Olmstead. The 
former, while expressing doubts of the expedi¬ 
ency of the plan proposed, determined finally 
to allow us to pursue such course as in our 
judgment was advisable, while the latter 
gentleman signified his hearty approval, as it 
accorded in many respects with a plan which 
he had previously thought feasible in this very 
matter. 


TEE DETECTIVE. 


188 


Our relations with these gentlemen were of a 
nature somewhat peculiar. The German Con¬ 
sul was acting in a double capacity, and had 
two interests to serve. He represented the heirs 
of the murdered man, and in that relation he was 
desirous of recovering the money that had been 
stolen, as well as discovering who the murderer 
was and bringing him to justice. At the same 
time, he was expected to render whatever assist¬ 
ance that was in his power to the unfortunate 
man who stood accused of the crime, and who 
was also a native of Germany, requiring his 
protection. The German Consul also enter¬ 
tained a well-grounded faith in the innocence of 
Bucholz, and desired that every fact that would 
substantiate this opinion should be discovered 
and used for his benefit. 

The State’s attorney, on the contrary, was 
firmly established in his belief that the murder 
had been committed by Bucholz, and none 
other, and his desire was that this theory 
should be proved beyond the possibility of 
doubt, in order that he, as the prosecuting offi¬ 
cer of the State, should be enabled to uphold 


184 


THE DETECTIVE . 


the dignity of outraged law, and to bring the 
guilty man to the justice which he believed was 
so richly merited. 

It was determined, therefore, after a confer¬ 
ence with these gentlemen, that my agents 
should pursue the investigation in such a man¬ 
ner as seemed best, and which gave greatest 
promise of eventual success. 

Armed with this double authority, our ar¬ 
rangements were soon made, and active opera¬ 
tions were instituted. Whether our efforts re¬ 
sulted in victory or defeat, the sequel will 
prove. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A Detective Reminiscence.—An Operation in Bridge - 
port in 1866. —The Adams Express Robbery .— A 
Half Million of Dollars Stolen .— Capture of the 
Thieves .— One of the Principals Turns State's 
Evidence .— Conviction and Punishment . 

a great crime has been committed 
the public mind experiences a sensation 
of horror. Imaginative persons are busy in 
the formation of all sorts of fancies with regard 
to the perpetrators. His probable appearance, 
gigantic proportions and horrible aspect are 
duly commented upon, and exaggeration invari¬ 
ably takes the place of fact in such estimations. 
In the majority of cases that have come under 
my notice the personal appearance of the 
criminal belied the possibility of his guilt. 

The verdant spectator is frequently amazed 
to find the apparent gentleman, attired witl 
the precision of the tailor’s art, with immaculate 

linen, and of delicate, and sometimes refined 

;i85] 


186 TEE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 

appearance arraigned for the crime of robbery 
or murder. 

Many times I have seen the eager spectator 
in a court room, looking vainly among the 
group of lawyers before the bar, for the monster 
they have conjured up in their imaginations, 
and finally settling upon some sharp-featured, 
but unimpeachable attorney as the malefactor, 
indulge in wise reflections as to the impossi¬ 
bility of mistaking a rogue from his appear¬ 
ance. 

I have seen their start of surprise as the real 
criminal, genteel, cool and gentlemanly, would 
rise from his seat and plead to the indictment 
that would be read to him, and their solemn 
shake of the head as their wise reflections were 
scattered to the winds. 

My first experience with the town of Bridge¬ 
port was particularly suggestive of these reflec¬ 
tions. I was engaged in a detective operation 
in which the Adams Express Company were the 
sufferers, having been robbed of a large amount 
of money, and, as the robbery took place in the 
vicinity of that city, the thieves, whom I sue- 


TEE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY, 


187 


ceeded in capturing, were confined in the jail 
there. 

The affair occurred during the first week of 
January, 1866, and the facts were as follows : 

On the night of the sixth of January, in the 
year just mentioned, the public mind was 
startled by the announcement that the Adams 
Express Company had been robbed of over a 
half million of dollars, by the thieves breaking 
into the car in which their valuables were 
placed, prying open the safes, and abstracting 
over six hundred thousand dollars, in notes, 
bonds and other valuable securities. 

The train to which the car was attached had 
left New York for Boston at eight o’clock in 
the evening, and it was not until arriving at 
New Haven that the depredation was discov¬ 
ered. 

The dismay of the company’s officials may 
be imagined when, on entering the car at the 
latter place, the fractured safes met their aston¬ 
ished gaze. A marlin spike, three dark lan¬ 
terns and a sledge hammer which lay beside 
them, told too plainly how the work had been 


188 THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERT. 

accomplished, but it furnished no clue as to 
how, or when, or by whom. 

The car was of the ordinary size of a box 
freight car, built with an iron frame, sheathed 
over with thick sheet iron plates, rivetted 
strongly together, and so closely made that a 
light placed inside could not be seen when the 
doors were closed. A messenger always accom¬ 
panied this car, but he usually sat in the bag¬ 
gage car of the train, and as the train did not 
make any stoppages between New York and 
New Haven, it was only at this time that the 
theft was discovered by the entrance of the 
messenger. 

It further appeared that the company’s safes 
were taken from the depot in New York and 
placed in the iron car, which was waiting upon 
a side-track, and which was immediately after¬ 
wards attached to the train. 

The safes having been placed in the car, the 
door was securely locked, and, as the train waa 
then ready to start, the agent of the company 
gave the word “All right!’ The train started 
and sped upon its journey, and nothing furfchei 


THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY . 189 

was known until its arrival at New Haven and 
the discovery of the theft. 

I was immediately notified of the matter, 
and after a careful observation of the safes and 
an investigation into the facts of the case, I 
thought I detected the handiwork of a party of 
young thieves whom I had accidentally encoun¬ 
tered in another operation in which I had been 
engaged some months previously. 

Operatives were immediately despatched in 
various directions, and the movements of the 
suspected parties were carefully but unobserv- 
edly watched. Very soon after, I succeeded in 
running down two of the parties, named John 
Tristram and Thomas Clark, and upon arrest¬ 
ing them each one had in his possession a gold 
watch, both of which were identified as stolen 
property. They were accordingly conveyed to 
Bridgeport and held to await their trial. 

Mr. Wells, the genial and efficient keeper 
of the prison, whose acquaintance I had pre¬ 
viously made, received the prisoners and 
securely fastened them up. 

A few days following this, an old resident 


190 THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 

of Norwalk, who was also an uncle of one of 
the men arrested, was observed by one of my 
men, carrying a package of unusual weight 
from his residence to the house of a sister of 
Tristram in New York City, and an examina¬ 
tion of the house resulted in finding nearly 
eighty seven thousand dollars of the stolen 
treasure. The old man was arrested, but devel¬ 
opments proved too plainly that he was only 
acting as a mere blind messenger for the other 
parties, and he was accordingly discharged. 

The trial of the two men, which subse¬ 
quently took place at Bridgeport, was attended 
by a large array of New York burglars, shop¬ 
lifters and pick-pockets—all friends of the 
criminals. They were closely watched, as it 
was feared that they intended making some 
attempt to rescue the prisoners. This precau¬ 
tion proved not t6 have been in vain, for during 
the sitting of the court an attempt was made 
to purloin an iron box in which m;>st of the 
testimony intended for use in the case, was 
kept. This was fortunately discovered in time, 


TEE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY . 101 


and many of the individuals concerned in it 
left town immediately. 

On the trial Tristram pleaded guilty and was 
sentenced to a term of imprisonment of three 
years and six months. 

From the evidence upon the part of the 
company, it appeared that the money in the 
safes was in four separate pouches, and con¬ 
sisted mainly of currency belonging to banking 
institutions, and all of which lacked the signa¬ 
tures of the bank officers to give it full character 
as money. 

The amounts taken were as follows : 

From the Washington Pouch, - $278,000.00 

“ “ Baltimore u - - 150,000.00 

“ “ Philadelphia “ - 100,000.00 

“ “ New York “ - - 150,000.00 

$678,000.00 

The two watches that were found upon the 
prisoners and identified as stolen from the 
safes, were designed as gifts, and were being 
carried by the company for delivery to the 
friends of the givers in Boston. 



193 THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 

Clark stood trial alone and was found guilty 
of only one count of the information against 
him, and his counsel obtained a stay of pro 
ceedings. 

I was now determined to capture the other 
members of the gang, and my arrangements 
were made accordingly. I suspected an indi¬ 
vidual named James Wells as being a partici¬ 
pant in the robbery, and therefore made him 
the principal object of attack. 

Wells was living at home with his mother at 
that time, and I succeeded in introducing one 
of my operatives into the house as a boarder. 
This operative cultivated the acquaintance of 
James, and proved a very agreeable companion 
indeed, while by the female members of the 
family he was regarded as one of the most 
pleasant boarders imaginable. The work was 
admirably accomplished, and he obtained all 
the information that was necessary to enable 
me to act intelligently and actively in the mat¬ 
ter. 

Prompt arrests followed, and Martin Allen 
James Wells, Gilly McGloyn, Eddy Watson 


THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 198 


and John Grady were pounced upon and oon 
veyed to prison. 

Thus far the evidence obtained had been of 
a character sufficient to warrant an arrest, but 
hardly of convincing force to justify a convic¬ 
tion upon a trial by jury. 

Most of the stolen property had been recov* 
ered, and I finally decided to make an on¬ 
slaught upon the weak points of Clark, the 
man previously arrested, and now awaiting the 
new trial which had been granted in his case. 

Accordingly I visited the jail and had an in¬ 
terview with this individual, who did not, at 
first, appear at all delighted with the visit. In 
a short time, however, I had gained entire con¬ 
trol of the man, and he became like wax in my 
hands. He made a full confession of the rob¬ 
bery, and declared his readiness to become a 
witness for the prosecution. Having accom¬ 
plished my purpose, I announced to the officers 
of the State my readiness to proceed to trial, 
and my sanguine hopes of a full conviction of 
the parties implicated. 

The trial took place shortly afterwards In 


194 TEE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 

Danbury, and I do not remember ever to have 
seen a more gentlemanly-looking array of pris¬ 
oners before a bar of justice. 

They were all dressed in the most exquisite 
style, and deported themselves in a manner far 
from what would ordinarily be expected from 
men engaged in professional criminal pursuits. 

During the trial the Court House was 
thronged by the fair sex of Danbury, whose 
sympathetic hearts were profoundly touched at 
the sight of these gentlemanly-appearing ras¬ 
cals. The attendance was further augmented 
by the appearance of many of their friends, 
both male and female, who came from Hew 
York to witness the proceedings and offer their 
loving consolations to the unfortunates. 

The alarm of these sympathetic friends 
reached a culminating point when the prosecut¬ 
ing attorney arose in his place and announced 
that he would place upon the stand one of the 
principals in the robbery, who would unfold the 
plot and its successful execution. Each pris¬ 
oner looked at the other, and angry, suspicious 
glances flashed from the eyes of them alL 


TEE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 


m 


Threats were whispered audibly among their 
friends, but no demonstration toon: place, and 
the silence in the court-room became painfully 
oppressive as the State’s attorney, after finish¬ 
ing his address to the jury, called the name of 
Thomas Clark. 

The prisoner took the stand, and, unabashed 
by the angry glances that were directed towards 
him, he told the story of the robbery in a plain, 
straightforward manner, that carried conviction 
to the minds of both judge and jury. 

The testimony which he gave was as follows: 

“My connection with this robbery com¬ 
menced on or about the 20th of December last 
(1865), at which time I met Martin Allen at a 
saloon in New York City. It was on that occa¬ 
sion that he told me that his brother-in-law, 
James Wells, who resided in Brooklyn, had an 
acquaintance named Gilly McGloyn, and that 
Gilly had a brother-in-law named Grady, who 
was a brakeman on the express tram of the 
New York and New Haven Railroad, which left 
New York at 8 o’clock in the evening. He also 
said that Grady wanted McGloyn to get some- 


196 THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY . 

body to help throw the safes out of that train. 
McGloyn went to Wells on purpose to inform 
him, and Wells told him of it, and Allen told 
me. 

“The next day Allen, Wells, McGloyn and 
Grady met me at Lafayette Hall, on Broadway, 
about the 21st of December. At that time 
Grady exhibited a piece of soap which con¬ 
tained an impression of a key-hole in the lock 
of the Adams Express car. In the course of 
the conversation which ensued at that time, 
Grady said that there were two messengers who 
looked after the Adams Express cars alternate¬ 
ly, one on each alternate night. He said that 
the most careless of the two messengers was 
named Moore, and that his evenings from New 
York were Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. 
Grady said he thought any one of those even¬ 
ings would be the best to select for the pur¬ 
pose of committing the robbery. 

“ Some time afterward, on a night when 
Moore had charge of the express car, I got on 
the train at Forty-second street, and went into 
the smoking car. There was a man there busy 


THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY . 


197 


making a fire in the stove, and in a few mo¬ 
ments Grady came into the car, and in order to 
signalize to me who Moore was, slapped the 
man on the back, saying, ‘Billy Moore, yon 
don’t know how to make a fire.’ 

“ The place which I selected as the proper 
point for throwing off the safes was between 
Coscob Bridge and Stamford. I hit upon that 
spot for the purpose, because at that point the 
distance between stoppages was short, being 
nly three miles from Coscob Bridge to Staim 
ord. I left the train at Bridgeport, where I 
stopped at the Atlantic Hotel, near the depot, 
all night. I returned to New York by the 10 
o’clock train next morning. I think it was the 
same day that the parties I have named had 
another meeting at Lafayette Hall. 

“It was at that time we arranged a plan for 
getting the safes out at Forty-second street, 
where we got the size of the lock of the express 
car. Next day Allen and myself visited nearly 
every hardware store in New York for the pur¬ 
pose of purchasing a lock similar to that on the 
car. The nearest to it in appearance was found 


198 THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 

in a store on Howaid street, between Crosby 
street and Broadway. We wanted this lock to 
put on the door of the car after breaking the 
other off. That same day Allen and Wells 
went to the same store and bought a sledge 
hammer. On the evening of the same day Al¬ 
len went to Crowe’s livery stable and hired a 
horse and a heavy express wagon. 

“ Some time before this Allen and I went to 
a blacksmith shop and had a piece of steel 
made into shape for the purpose of prying the 
lock off the car. No less than five efforts were 
made to take the safes off the car at Forty-sec¬ 
ond street, on nights when Moore was messen¬ 
ger. Next day after our last attempt Allen, 
McGloyn, Grady and myself met at Lafayette 
Hall and arranged to abandon the Forty-second 
street plan. Tristram, Hudson and McGuire 
were never present at our conferences at Lafay¬ 
ette Hall. I used to meet McGuire and tell him 
what had transpired, and he used to convey the 
intelligence to Tristram and Hudson. 

“The new plan was that three of ns were to 
secrete ourselves in the express car during its 


THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY . 


199 


brief stay at Forty-second street, and the other 
five were to go in the passenger cars. We three 
were to throw off the safes after the train got 
over the Harlem Bridge. The five were to get 
out at the bridge. After the three had thrown 
off the safes they were to ring the bell, stop the 
train, get off and walk back till they met the 
others. They were then to take thd safes to 
some convenient place, break them open, and 
pack the money and valuables in two valises 
which they had with them, and leave the safes 
there. 

“ On the night of the 6th of January last, the 
eight of us, Allen, Tristram, McGuire, Hudson, 
Wells, McGloyn, Grady and myself met by 
previous agreement, about seven o’clock, near 
the depot and Forty-second street. McGuire 
brought with him two carpet-bags, a marlin 
spike and a common mortising chisel. The 
others of us had a piece of steel, a lock, a sledge 
hammer and a dark lantern. Hudson, Grady, 
McGuire and myself got in between the express 
car and the freight train, and managed to break 
the lock with the marlin spike. We then drew 


800 TEE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY, 

back the door and three of us, Grady, McGuire 
and myself, got in. Hudson then placed the 
lock in the staple outside, but not in the hasp, 
and then closed the door. This was to save 
appearances. 

“ We sat quietly until the train got in the 
tunnel, between New York and Harlem. We 
found three safes in the car. We got one of 
them over and tried to break in the bottom with 
the sledge hammer, but we found this would 
not work. We then took the marlin spike, 
drove it into the door of the safe and pried it 
open. McGuire held the spike and Grady and 
I knocked it in. Having packed the contents 
of this in a carpet-bag, we broke open another 
safe, the contents of which we also packed 
away. The reason we did not get out after 
passing Harlem Bridge was because we discov¬ 
ered, after getting into the car, that the rope 
was in an iron tube, and that prevented our 
stopping the car. 

“ At Coscob Station we got out and hid one 
of the bags in a pile of lumber. We then 
walked up the track a mile toward Stamford, 


THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 


201 


where we hid in a stone wall the large carpet¬ 
bag. The three of ns then, unincumbered, 
walked to Stamford. Here Grady lived, and 
he wished us to go to a barn, and said he would 
bring us something to eat; but McGuire and I 
thought it best to go back to New York as soon 
as possible ; so we got aboard a freight train 
for Norwalk and took the Owl, a midnight 
train, from there. Going to New York we sat 
in different parts of the car and did not speak. 
The train stopped for some reason or other at 
One Hundred and Twentieth street, and there 
McGuire and I got out. 

“We were then on our way to Tristram’s 
house, and there we met Allen, Hudson and 
Tristram. They told us they had got on the 
car as agreed upon, and had got off at Harlem 
Bridge, and walked up the track about six 
miles, but, failing to find us, had become dis¬ 
gusted and returned home. That evening Tris¬ 
tram, McGuire and I started for Norwalk in the 
five o’clock train. We all got off at Stamford, 
and I went to a livery stable, for the purpose of 

hiring a horse and wagon in order to remove 
9* 


202 TEE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 

the stolen property. I told the stable keeper I 
was going to Norwalk, but it was so cold he 
would not hire his horses. We could not get a 
horse at Stamford, so we arranged to take the 
next train to Norwalk. We reached Norwalk 
the next day, and stopped at the house of old 
Josiah Tristram till Tuesday evening. On 
Monday evening we were joined by Hudson. 
He came to the house with Tristram in a Rock- 
away carriage. We then went to Coscob 
Bridge, got the hidden bags, and returned to 
Tristram’s house. We here unpacked and re¬ 
packed the bags, tying a couple of skate straps 
about them, so as to be handy for Josiah Tris¬ 
tram to carry them to New York next day, 
January 9. We remained here Tuesday even¬ 
ing, when Tristram and I were arrested.” 

The effect of Clark’s evidence was thrilling 
in the extreme. The story was too potent for 
cross-examination. The enemy was badly shat¬ 
tered and demoralized. Ex-Judge Stuart, coun¬ 
sel for the prisoners, maintained the currency 
was not money because it was incomplete with 


THE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 


203 


out. the bank officers’ signatures, but he was 
overruled by the court. 

A host of witnesses were then produced to 
prove that Allen, Wells and some of the other 
prisoners were elsewhere on the night of the 
robbery. The characters of the witnesses for 
the defense broke down under cross-examina¬ 
tion ; but no matter, the jury disagreed—a re¬ 
sult which had been anticipated owing to cer¬ 
tain associations of one of the jurors with 
friends of some of the prisoners. 

A second trial was ordered, and took place 
in Danbury during the latter part of the year. 
During the interval that elapsed before the 
second trial, McGuire, who was out on bail, 
took part in the bold robbery of the Bow- 
doinham Bank, in Maine, for which he is 
now serving out a fifteen years’ sentence in 
State Prison. 

Hudson managed to escape before the first 
arrest of the prisoners, and with ten thousand 
dollars of the stolen money went to Europe, 
where he has been ever since. 

One of Allen’s friends, who was visiting 


204 TEE ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 

Danbury with his family during the first trial, 
and who was on visiting terms with one of 
the jurors, represented to an old friend who 
met him in the hotel that he “had found 
Jesus” and was “leading a new life.” He 
was congratulated, but carefully watched. 

One of the female witnesses for the alibi, 
a handsome brunette, said, on cross examina¬ 
tion, that she was a dressmaker, but seldom 
made dresses, as she was the recipient of two 
hundred dollars every week from a New York 
merchant, who admired her for her beauty. 

At the second trial the four remaining 
prisoners, McGuire having gone into business 
in Maine, fared not so well. They were con¬ 
victed and sent to Wethersfield, from whence 
some of them may have emerged wiser and 
better members of society. Some of them 
could not reform. The stolen money was 
nearly all recovered, and the Adams Express 
Company had, long previous to th« end of 
the trial, indemnified all their customers foi 
any loss sustained by th6 robbery. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


The Jail at Bridgeport.—An Important Arrests— 
Bucholz Finds a Friend.—A Suspicious Character 
who Watches and Listens.—Bucholz Relates His 
Story . 

A FEW days had elapsed after my taking 
charge of the case of William Bucholz, 
when two arrests were made by the officials of 
Bridgeport, one of which promised to have 
an important bearing upon the investigation 
in hand. 

One was that of a shrewdly-educated young 
Irishman, whose sharp, piercing black eyes, 
and closely-cut black hair, gave him a look 
of acuteness that was apparent to the most 
casual observer. He had been charged with 
false pretense in assuming to be the agent of 
a publisher of chromos, and his practice was 
to take orders for the pictures which he 

exhibited, from his unsuspecting customers, 

[ 205 ] 


*06 BUCHOLZ RELATES HIS STORY. 

the same to be delivered at some future time. 
He would then receive a part of the purchase 
money in advance, and take his departure, 
while the innocent subscriber would look in 
rain for the fulfillment of his contract. 

The other arrest was that of a handsome 
And gentlemanly-looking man of about thirty- 
five years of age. His hair, which was prema¬ 
turely gray, curled gracefully about his brow 
and temples, but his moustache, which was 
of a brownish color and carefully trimmed, 
lessened the indication of greater age on 
account of the color of his hair. He evinced 
a quiet reserve of manner, and a general air 
of respectability scarcely in accord with his 
appearing to answer for the commission of a 
crime, and many sympathetic remarks were 
made by the bystanders on the occasion of 
his hearing. 

He was charged with forgery, and had been 
arrested in the act of presenting a forged order 
for a money package, at the office of the Adams 
Express Company at Bridgeport. The evidence 
of the forgery was unmistakable, and the agent 


BUCHOLZ RELATES HIS STORY . 


207 


of the company detecting it, at once had the 
man arrested. 

These two arrests were almost coincident; 
their hearing at the preliminary examination 
took place at the same session of the court, and 
as each of them waived a hearing and were 
unable to procure bail, they were both con¬ 
signed to the jail to await their trial at the 
next sitting of the general court. 

As a general thing there seems to be a sort 
of community of interest or fraternity of feeling 
existing between prisoners during their con¬ 
finement. At certain hours in the day, in 
many places of imprisonment, the authorities 
permit the prisoners to leave their cells and 
to take exercise in the corridors. At such 
times they mingle together indiscriminately 
and indulge in general conversation, and many 
interesting episodes could be gathered from 
their recitals of the various scenes through 
which they have passed during their vicarious 
life, and the experiences thus related would 
tend to prove, beyond question, that the 


208 BUCHOLZ RELATES HIS STORY. 

imagination of the romancer falls far short 
of the actual realities of life. 

Many wild and seemingly extravagant 
stories are related, which fill the listener with 
incredulity, but which, upon inquiry, are 
usually found to be but truthful relations of 
actual occurrences. 

But in this jail at Bridgeport there was 
one person, who, upon finding himself a 
prisoner, held himself aloof from the rest, 
declining to make any acquaintances or to 
engender any friendships, and this person 
was the quiet-looking man who had been 
arrested by the express company, and whose 
name was ascertained to be Edward Sommers. 
He studiously avoided his fellow-prisoners 
and maintained a degree of reserve which 
repelled their advances and at once induced 
their respect. 

Thomas Brown, the black-haired, false pre 
tender, however, immediately placed himself 
on friendly terms with every one within reach, 
and his merry stories were fully appreciated by 


BUCEOLZ RELATES HIS ST CRT. 


209 


the residents of the correctional institution in 
which they found themselves thrown together. 

But how fared William Bucholz during the 
days that had intervened since his incarceration ? 
His mind, it is true, had grown calmer since the 
first paroxysm of his grief had spent itself, and 
he had composed himself sufficiently to look 
the future hopefully in the face. As day after 
day was passed in the seclusion of his cell, he 
had grown reconciled to a certain extent to the 
existing state of affairs, but he still looked for¬ 
ward anxiously to the day which was to de¬ 
liver him from the enclosing walls that re¬ 
strained him of his liberty. 

He was moody and silent, and his mind was 
much disturbed. His waking thoughts were 
ever busy with the weighty and depressing con¬ 
sideration of his position and of the fate that 
hung over him like a pall. Hour after hour he 
would pace the corridors, seeking no companion 
ship and taking no pleasure in the mirth-pro¬ 
voking actions of those who surrounded him, 
or in any of the events that transpired within 
the jail. 


210 BUCHOLZ RELATES HIS STORY . 

Mechanically he would walk backward and 
forward, apparently in deep and dejected 
thoughtfulness, and when the time came for the 
keepers to lock him up again he would yield a 
ready but listless obedience, and spend the re¬ 
mainder of the time in reading and profound 
meditation. 

He appeared to have no visitors except his 
counsel and a few friends from South Norwalk. 
But his attorneys would invariably exercise a 
cheering influence upon him, and their visits 
were always looked forward to with pleasure. 

Under their ministrations Bucholz seemed to 
have buoyed himself up with a certain well- 
grounded hope of ultimate acquittal, and the 
thought of the possibility of conviction, while it 
would, frequently occur to him, never found a 
firm place in his mind. 

During the infrequent and invariably short 
conversations that took place between himself 
and any of his fellow prisoners, he always 
spoke hopefully of his approaching trial, and 
ever asserted, with an air of conviction, that 
upon its completion he would walk out of the 


BUCHOLZ RELATES EIS STORY. 311 

court room a free man. His counsel had 
solemnly warned him against making a confi 
dant of any one with whom he conversed, and 
he was always very careful in his utterances 
when speaking about his connection with the 
murder of Henry Schulte. 

Thus the days sped on until Edward Som¬ 
mers entered the jail, and then it seemed as 
though his disposition for reserve entirely left 
him. There appeared to be some feeling of per¬ 
sonal attraction between Bucholz and the new¬ 
comer almost unaccountable, for as they both 
had avoided the companionship of the other in¬ 
mates, they, strange to say, soon quietly, 
almost imperceptibly, drifted into a friendship 
for each other seemingly as profound as it was 
demonstrative. 

Both being natives of Germany, they con¬ 
versed in the language of the Fatherland, and as 
they were familiar with many localities of joint 
interest, they became quite intimate, and many 
hours were whiled away in the relation of their 
earlier experiences and in fond recollections of 
bygone days. 


212 


BUGHOLZ RELATES HIS STORY. 


During the entire time in which they were 
allowed to mingle with each other, these two 
would sit together, and their friendship soon 
became the topic of general conversation. 
Thomas Brown, however, seemed to be exceed¬ 
ingly uneasy under its manifestations, and he 
would oftentimes steal upon them unawares 
and endeavor to catch some fleeting words of 
their apparently interesting conversations. 

Under the inspiration of a mutual inter¬ 
change of thoughts the two friends became 
warmly attached to each other, particularly 
so far as Bucholz was concerned. They shared 
together their stores and the delicacies which 
would be furnished them by visiting ladies 
or by the counsel of Bucholz, who frequently 
visited his client and supplied him with needed 
articles of diet, which were not furnished by 
the authorities of the prison. 

Thus matters went on, the friendship of 
Sommers and William Bucholz seeming to 
increase with every recurring day, and the 
watchful Brown still jealously wacching their 


BUCHOLZ RELATES UIS STORY. 


213 


movements and attempting to listen to their 
confidences 

They were sitting together one day shortly 
after this, when Bucholz, in a jocular manner, 
addressing his companion, said: 

“Ah, my dear Sommers, I am surprised 
to find you here in jail and upon such a charge 
as they have brought against you.” 

“Yes, but my dear Bucholz, consider my 
surprise to find you here, and upon the charge 
of murder, too. You must remember you are 
not clear yet,” answered Sommers, with a 
tinge of annoyance in his voice, but whether 
it was his tone or the language used that 
brought the color to the face of the accused 
man, Sommers did not then know. 

“Ah, you should not joke upon such a 
serious matter,” he answered, with a degree 
of confusion that could not have escaped the 
attention of his friend. 

“ Never mind, my friend,” replied Sommers. 
“ It will all come out right in the end, only 
you must not talk to your fellow-prisoners 


5514 . BUCHOLZ RELATES HIS STORY. 

about their troubles, nor allow them to talk 
to you about yours.” 

“Oh, no!” said Bucholz; “my lawyers 
always tell me to say nothing to anybody.” 

“ That is right. You cannot tell who would 
be your friend or who your enemy, in a place 
of this kind.” 

The next day, as they were sitting together, 
two German newspapers were handed to 
Sommers by the hall-man, and upon receiving 
them he handed them at once to his companion. 
Bucholz opened the paper carelessly, but as 
his eyes glanced over its contents, he stopped, 
started to his feet, and then throwing the paper 
suddenly down upon the floor, he buried his 
face in his hands. 

“ What is the matter now ?” asked Sommers, 
astonished at this strange behavior, and picking 
up the discarded paper. 

“Look there l” exclaimed Bucholz, pointing 
to a passage in the paper. “ Bead that. That 
is the first time that paper ever said I was 
guilty.” 

The article to which he alluded was in re- 


BUCHOLZ RELATES EI3 STORY. *15 

gard to a statement which Bucholz had made 
at the time of his arrest. In explaining the 
fact of his having several large sums of money 
in his possession, he had declared that his sis¬ 
ter had sent them to him from Germany. This 
statement had just been discovered to be un¬ 
true, and the denial of the sister of the fact of 
her having sent any money at all, was the basis 
of the article in question. 

“ This looks rather bad for you, William,” 
said Sommers, sorrowfully. 

“It does look bad,” he replied, “but I 
never did say that I received any money from 
my sister. I never did say anything of that 
kind.” 

The black eyes of the ubiquitous Brown 
were upon the two men as they stood talking, 
but he was too far away to hear what was trans¬ 
piring between them. 

“What can they have against you any 
how?” inquired Sommers. “Surely there 
must be some ground of suspicion upon which 
to base their charge.” 

“ Ah, you do not know. After the old man 


216 BUCHOLZ RELATES HIS STORT\ 

was murdered; I was arrested ; I was „r</sely 
questioned, and I did say some things that I 
should not have said. I had no lawyer, and a 
white-haired fox whose name was Illing did 
every thing he could against me. I did not have 
an opportunity to explain myself at all. ,, 

“That was too bad, indeed,” added Som¬ 
mers ; “ but it can all be shown right upon the 
trial, and then you will come out safely.” 

“ Oh, yes, it will come out all right on the 
trial, I know, for then I will have my lawyers 
to defend me.” 

“But, tell me, William, how did this mur¬ 
der occur ?” 

Thus questioned, Bucholz, without hesita¬ 
tion, at once commenced and related to his 
friend the circumstances of the affair, adhering 
strictly to the same story which he had told at 
the inquest, and which he had religiously re¬ 
peated ever since. 

While they were thus conversing, the jailer 
came to lock them in their cells for the night. 
Brown slipped quietly away, and the two men, 
thus so strangely thrown together, shook hands 


BUCHOLZ RELATES HIS STORY . 


*17 


and retired to their separate apartments, where 
they spent the night in slumber. But ah, how 
pleasant or how fatiguing was that slumber! 

10 


CHAPTER XX. 


Bucholz passts a Sleepless Night.—An ImportonX 
Discovery .— The Finding of the Watch of the 
Murdered Man.—Edward Sommers consoles the 
Distressed Prisoner. 

narrative must necessarily deal some- 
what largely with the interior arrange¬ 
ments and experiences of a prison. Not a very 
gratifying spectacle certainly, nor one ordinarily 
calculated to give occasion for many incidents 
of a pleasurable character, or for those glossed 
with the tints of romance or gallantry. 

How many untouched pillows there are as 
the sable folds of night gather around the 
dreary walls of the prison. How many aching 
hearts and weary brains are waiting and watch 
ing for the dawning of the day—the coming ol 
the bright rays of the morning, which shall dispel 
the gloom and despair of their narrow chamber, 
and gild with golden beauty the darkened cor¬ 
ners where, in the solemn hours of the night, 
[ 218 ] 


AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY. 


21t 


lurk the grim specters that were born of their 
remorse or their fears. 

Bucholz passed a sleepless night after the 
conversation just had with his companion, Ed¬ 
ward Sommers; the buoyancy of his hopes 
was shaken, and between the fitful, restless 
slumbers, dark dreaming and frowning visitants 
came to him in all the forbidding presence of 
accusing spirits. 

In the morning he arose unrested and unre¬ 
freshed, and as he greeted his friend, the latter 
detected traces of tears in his eyes, which were 
shrouded with the dark lines that gave token of 
a lack of sleep and of intense mental distress. 

After the usual morning salutations were 
exchanged, they partook of their breakfast in 
silence. Upon the arrival of the hour for the 
admission of visitors, Paul Herscher, who had 
testified in regard to the money which Bucholz 
had given him, was announced as desiring to 
see the prisoner, and together they went into 
his cell. 

The information which he brought proved to 
be very important, though not in the least con 


820 


AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERT. 


soling, and appeared to have an effect upon Bu- 
cholz far from assuring. It appeared that a se¬ 
vere storm of snow had fallen on the Sunday 
afternoon following the murder, and which had 
remained upon the ground in the fields and 
woods until this time, when the March rains 
and warm sunshine had caused all traces of it 
to disappear, leaving the ground uncovered to 
the bright sunlight of a Spring morning. 

On the morning previous to this visit, a 
farmer engaged in the fields adjoining the farm 
formerly occupied by Henry Schulte, had 
discovered a watch lying upon the ground, 
which had evidently been hidden from view 
by the snow. This watch had been immedi¬ 
ately identified as belonging to the murdered 
man. 

It will be remembered that at the inquest 
it had been discovered that the watch usually 
worn by Henry Schulte, had been torn forcibly 
from the guard around his neck, and from 
that time all traces of it had disappeared, until 
this unexpected resurrection from under its 
covering of snow. 


AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERT. Ml 

What made this discovery of more import¬ 
ance was the fact that the watch was found, 
not far from a fence bordering a road along 
which Bucholz was known to have traveled 
on the night of the murder while on his way 
to the village to give the alarm. It verily 
seemed as though another link had been forged 
in the chain of evidence that was being drawn 
around him, and Bucholz realizing this felt 
his heart sink within him, as he listened to 
the loquacious visitor who seemed to be very 
well pleased in having something to tell. 

Maintaining his composure, however, he 
listened to the recital without any evidence 
of emotion, and not one would have imagined 
that it had the slightest effect upon him other 
than that of curiosity, but after Paul Herscher 
had departed he threw himself upon his bed 
and sobbed bitterly. 

In this condition he was found by Edward 
Sommers a few minutes afterwards, and almost 
immediately thereafter he was followed by the 
stealthy-moving Brown, who, passing the door 
of the cell occupied by Bucholz, and looking 


AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERT. 


in, had discovered the strange proceedings that 
were taking place. 

Posting himself upon the outside of the 
cell door Brown endeavored to listen to what 
ensued between the two men inside, but to his 
intense chagrin and disappointment he dis¬ 
covered that they were talking in German and 
he could not understand a word. 

Sommers seated himself upon the bed beside 
his companion, and placing his hand upon his 
shoulder endeavored to solace him in his 
apparent distress. 

“My dear fellow,” said he, after Bucholz 
had told him the cause of his tears, “do not 
be so discouraged. ” 

“Ah, how can I help it,” replied Bucholz, 
“ when everything seems to be turning against 
me 1” 

“Never mind, Bucholz ; you have good law¬ 
yers, and they will tell you what to do,” said 
his companion, soothingly. “Now, tell me, 
my friend, how many people ever saw this 
watch of Mr. Schulte ? If he made no friends, 


AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERT. 


228 


he could not have shown his watch to many 
people.” 

“That is so,” replied Bucholz> eagerly 
catching at the suggestion, and his face bright¬ 
ened at once. “There is only one person who 
can identify it—the old man’s former servant, 
Frank Bruner, and he must be got out of the 
way.” 

Sommers gazed at his companion in aston¬ 
ishment. The change in him was wonderful— 
the depression of spirits had disappeared en¬ 
tirely, and this effect had been produced by a 
proposition to dispose of one who might prove 
a damaging witness against him. Eather a 
strange suggestion to come from one who was 
entirely guiltless of crime ! 

“You are a great fellow, Sommers,” con- 
tinued Bucholz, with glee, “and after we get 
out of this we will have a good time together.” 

“What will we do to have a good time?” 
asked Sommers, rather doubtfully. 

“We will go to Australia,” replied the 
other, in great good humor, “and we will en¬ 
joy ourselves there, I can tell you.” 


AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERT. 


224 


“Yes, but that will take a great deal of 
money, and where is that to come from?” 

“ Never you mind about the money; I will 
fix that all right. I do not intend to work, and 
you need not do so either.” 

Sommers looked up at his friend, who 
smiled in a peculiar manner, and was about to 
question him further upon the subject, but at 
that moment the conversation for that day was 
interrupted by the announcement of a visit 
from Mr. Bollman, one of the counsel Bucho]z 
had employed to conduct his case, and who was 
the only one of the attorneys who made fre¬ 
quent visits to their client. 

Sommers bade his friend good morning, and, 
as he left the cell, he ran forcibly against the 
listening Brown, who had ensconced himself 
near the door. The two men glared at each 
other for a moment, and then, without speak¬ 
ing, each went their separate ways. Sommers 
determined to keep his eye on this fellow, and 
dispose of him in a very decisive way should 
lie prove further troublesome. 

Thus day by day did the intimacy between 


AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERT. 


226 


Bucholz and Sommers increase, while the 
watchfulness of Brown had not diminished in 
the least. He seemed to keep his searching 
eyes upon the pair, and scarcely any movement 

was made that escaped his notice. 

10 * 


CHAPTER XXI. 


A Romantic Theory Dissipated.—The Fair Clara 
becomes communicative.—An Interview with the 
Barkeeper of “ The Crescent Hotel.” 

YTTHILE these events were transpiring within 
the jail, I was actively engaged in the 
attempt to follow the clue in relation to the two 
susjucious individuals wno had made their 
mysterious appearance at Stamford on the night 
of the murder of Henry Schulte. 

It will be remembered that their actions at¬ 
tracted universal attention, and that, after in¬ 
quiring for a train to New York, they had 
taken one going in a directly opposite direction. 

Judicious inquiries soon brought my officers 
in personal contact with several parties who dis¬ 
tinctly recollected the two strange persons 
above mentioned, and from their descriptions 
we were enabled to trace them to their places of 
residence. 

It was ascertained that they were two re- 
[ 228 ] 


THE FAIR CLARA. 


m 

spectable and peaceably-disposed Germans who 
resided at New Haven, and who had come to 
Stamford on that evening to attend a frolic at 
the house of a German farmer who lived near 
to that place. They had spent the evening in a 
jovial manner, and had left the house under the 
impression that by hastening their steps they 
would be in time to catch the train for their 
homes. They had consequently run the greater 
part of the distance to the station, which being 
nearly a mile away, accounted for their breath¬ 
less condition upon reaching there. They had 
then inquired for a train from New York, and 
not to that city, and upon being informed that 
no further trains from that direction (as they 
understood it) would arrive that night, they 
had indulged in an extended personal alterca¬ 
tion, each accusing the other of being the cause 
of their detention. When the train did arrive, 
contrary to their expectations, their ill feelings 
had not sufficiently subsided, and they sat sul¬ 
len and apart upon their journey to their places 
of abode. 

These facts, of course, dissipated the roman- 


228 


THE FAIR CLARA 


tic theory that foreign emissaries had been em¬ 
ployed by the relatives of the deceased to put 
him out of the way in order to secure his 
wealth ; and so that glittering edifice of specula¬ 
tion fell to the ground. 

I did not have much faith in this story from 
the outset, but it is a rule with me to follow 
every point in an investigation to a definite 
and satisfactory conclusion, and this line of in¬ 
quiry was diligently pursued to the results 
mentioned. I therefore dismissed the matter 
from further consideration. 

Operatives were also detailed to visit the 
Crescent Saloon, where the fair and voluptuous 
Clara presided and ministered to the bibulous 
appetites of her numerous friends and admirers. 

They succeeded in making the acquaintance 
of the young lady, and by a liberal purchase of 
drinks, were successful in getting the fair but 
frail damsel in a communicative mood. She re¬ 
lated her previous experience with Bucholz and 
confessed to entertaining at one time a decided 
regard for him, which regard was, however, not 
unraixed with fear. She also related several 


BECOMES COMMUNICAirVE. 2t9 

incidents, in which Bucholz, after having gone 
to South Norwalk, had visited the saloon and 
had been very lavish in spending his money. 

“He was here,” said the girl, “only a few 
days before the murder, and he drank a great 
deal. He appeared to have plenty of money, 
and spent more than fifty dollars here at one 
time. He seemed wild and excited, and talked 
about the old man in a manner that frightened 
me. When I heard about the murder from the 
young servant that used to work for Mr. 
Schulte, I could not help thinking that Bucholz 
had something to do with it. His eyes had a 
wild, wicked look when he spoke about the old 
man’s money, and I felt sure that he was rob¬ 
bing him during his lifetime. When I heard 
that he was dead and had been murdered, I 
could not help it, but I thought at once that 
Bucholz had done it. I do not know why I 
thought so, but I could not get rid of that im 
pression.” 

These statements, although furnishing no 
proofs of Bucholz’s guilt, were of a character to 
convince me of the possibility of his having 


230 


TEE FAIR CLARA 


committed the murder. He had evidently been 
stealing from the old man before his death, and 
whether the murder had been committed to 
hide his previous robberies or to obtain posses¬ 
sion of the great wealth which he carried about 
him, was the question I was resolved to deter¬ 
mine. 

A visit was also paid to the hotel where 
Bucholz had boarded and where he had met 
Mr. Schulte and engaged in his service. The 
cheery-faced landlord was very reticent upon 
the subject, and but little was learned from 
him. His barkeeper, however, was more dis¬ 
posed to talk, and it was ascertained that when 
Bucholz had left the hotel to enter the employ 
of Mr. Schulte he had left unpaid a bill for 
board which had been accumulating for some 
weeka, and that his trunk had been detained in 
consequence. After the murder he had visited 
the hotel in company with the officers who had 
him then in charge, and had paid his bill and 
taken his trunk away. The barkeeper shrugged 
his shoulders and declined to have anything to 
say when asked about any suspicious actions on 


BECOMES COMMUNICATIVE. 


981 


the part of Bucholz daring his residence in the 
house or since his engagement with Mr. Schulte. 

From this person it was also discovered that 
a mail package, evidently containing some 
money, had been received at the hotel, ad¬ 
dressed to William Bucholz. It purported to 
come from Germany, but an examination of the 
seals disclosed the fact that the package had 
been manufactured in the city, and that it had 
been designed to give color to the story of Bu- 
cholz’s, of his having received money from his 
relatives who resided in Germany. There were, 
however, too many circumstances surrounding 
this package of a suspicious character to suc¬ 
cessfully deceive any one about its having come 
through the regular channels, or, in fact, having 
come from Germany at all. This package was 
the subject of discussion in the German paper, 
whose comments had produced such a marked 
effect upon the prisoner when he read it. 

This information I was compelled to receive 
for what it was worth. The package had been 
delivered, and I could only depend upon the 
recollections of those who had seen it at the 


$82 


THE FAIR CLARA . 

I 

time. Their statements or opinions would cei> 
tainly not be received as evidence, nor could 
they be used in any legal manner. They only 
served to strengthen my belief in William 
Bucholz’s guilty participation in the murder, 
and determined me to pursue my present sys 
tern of investigation vigorously and unremit 
tingly to a successful conclusion. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


Sommers suggests a doubt of Bucholz’s Innocence 
lie employs Bucholzs Counsel to effect his Re¬ 
lease.—A Visit from the State's Attorney.—A 
Difficulty and an Estrangement. 

yVjTE will now return to the prison at Bridge- 
port and to the unfortunate man con¬ 
fined within its walls for the murder of his 
master. 

The intimacy and friendship existing be¬ 
tween Sommers and Bucholz continued to in 
crease as the days passed slowly on. By de¬ 
grees and in fragmentary conversations Som¬ 
mers had learned the story of the murder from 
his companion. He had advised him repeat¬ 
edly about his deportment in the prison, and as 
to his manner of conducting himself upon his 
approaching trial. He had evinced a deep sym¬ 
pathy for his unfortunate position, and, by 
timely suggestions and judicious warnings, had 
A ed the accused man to rely upon him, in a 

material degree, for advice and comfort. 

[233] 


134 


A DIFFICULTY 


During all this long intimacy Bucholz never 
wavered in his protestations of innocence, or in 
his consistent statement of the knowledge 
which he professed to have of the murder of 
Henry Schulte. 

One day they were sitting together in the 
cell of Sommers. Bucholz was in a very pleas¬ 
ant humor, owing to some event that had oc¬ 
curred—a visit from some ladies of the village 
—and turning to Sommers, he laughingly 
said: 

“Ah, Sommers, it seems very strange that 
you and I should be in prison, while others are 
free and enjoying the brightness and pleasures 
of liberty.” 

“Yes,” replied his companion, “ but if we 
had both behaved ourselves better, we would 
not be here.” 

Bucholz’s manner changed instantly. He 
became livid in the face, his lips trembled, and 
casting a searching look at his companion, he 
said: 

“ But I did not do this thing that I am ao- 
cused of.” 


AND AN ESTRANGEMENT. m 

Quietly and calmly his companion returned 
his glance, and then he laughingly said : 

“ Oh, I know all about that. You can’t fool 
me.” 

Bucholz did not reply. In a few moments 
he turned away and left the cell, and the sub¬ 
ject was not mentioned between them for sev¬ 
eral days. 

A short time after this, Sommers complained 
of the length of his confinement, and wished 
that he might have his bail reduced, in order to 
effect his deliverance. He also suggested that 
if he could once get out of the jail he could 
work for his friend—in whose welfare he was 
warmly interested—in a manner that would 
greatly benefit him. 

Bucholz, apparently ignoring this proposi¬ 
tion, seemed anxious to revert to their previous 
conversation, and began by referring to his 
friendly relations with Henry Schulte during 
his lifetime, and complained of the absurdity of 
placing him in jail upon the charge of murder¬ 
ing him. 

“ Why,” said he, “ he promised to take me 


236 


A DIFFICULTY 


with him to Germany and make me inspector of 
his estates there, and I should probably have 
been heir to many thousands of dollars at his 
death. Would I not be a fool to kill him V’ 

Sommers listened patiently to the long re¬ 
cital, which he knew did not contain a particle 
of truth, and upon its conclusion he remarked, 
in a light, careless way: 

“ Now, William, between you and I, I ac¬ 
tually believe that you had something to do 
with this murder.” 

Again that deathly pallor overspread his 
face ; he became confused and scarcely able 
to speak—but at length, recovering himself 
with an effort, he declared his innocence, and 
said that he could not sit upon the bed enjoy¬ 
ing health if he had done this deed, or knew 
the parties who had. 

“Why,” continued he, “ I would not have 
gone to Norwalk that night and reported the 
murder if I had done it. Ah, my dear Som¬ 
mers, you will learn when you go to Norwalk 
yourself from everybody there that all my 
actions have been those of an innocent man.” 


AND AN ESTRANGEMENT. *S7 

Sommers looked doubtfully at his friend, 
and when he had finished speaking, he said: 

“Well, Bucholz, it is none of my business. 
I hate to see you in this difficulty, and no mat¬ 
ter whether you had anything to do with it or 
not, I will do all that I can to get you out of 
it. I feel almost as badly about it as you do.” 

“ Ah, Sommers, I tremble at the thought of 
a verdict of guilty ! I think I should die upon 
the spot if I should hear that word.” 

Sommers comforted him as well as he was 
able to do; promised him whatever assistance 
that was in his power to render him, and by 
repeated assurances, he succeeded in quieting 
his fears and restoring his tranquillity. 

It was finally agreed between them that 
Sommers should make a decided effort to be 
admitted to bail, and then securing his liberty, 
he should devote himself to the interests of his 
friend Bucholz, but during all their after con¬ 
ferences he never asserted his innocence to 
Edward Sommers again. 

The ubiquitous Brown had not been idle ; he 
efcill watched these men with ceaseless and jeal- 


938 


A DIFFICULTY 


ous vigilance, and whenever they were together 
he would endeavor to approach them as closely 
as possible. He saw many things that excited 
his curiosity, but their conversations he could 
not understand. These two men were the only 
prisoners who spoke German, and on that ac¬ 
count they were as secure from interruption as 
though no prying eyes were watching them or 
no suspicions were entertained in regard to their 
intimacy. 

One day an incident occurred, however, 
which threatened to mar the serenity of the 
intercourse of these two men, who had been so 
strangely thrown together, but which event* 
ually resulted in cementing their union more 
closely. 

Sommers had retained Mr. Bollman, the 
attorney for Bucholz, for the purpose of having 
his bail reduced in order to effect his release 
from imprisonment. This course was deemed 
necessary for two reasons—his health had been 
considerably impaired by his long confinement, 
and, besides that, it was decided that he could 
work more successfully in the interests of Bu- 


AND AN ESTRANGEMENT . m 

cholz, could he be freed from the restraint of the 
prison. 

Mr. Bollman had met Mr. Olmstead upon 
the train and had broached the matter to him. 
Mr. Olmstead had demurred to the reduction, 
for reasons which seemed sufficient for his ac¬ 
tion, and had informed Mr. Bollman that he 
would visit the jail, have an interview with 
Sommers, and ascertain the full particulars of 
his case. 

In accordance with that suggestion, he had 
called at the jail, and Sommers had been noti¬ 
fied of the desire of the State’s attorney to see 
him. 

He was conversing with Bucholz in their 
usual friendly manner when the notice was con¬ 
veyed to him, and as Bucholz heard the name 
of the visitor and the nature of the communica¬ 
tion, he became confused and apparently much 
frightened. He looked beseechingly at Som¬ 
mers as he turned to obey the summons, and 
tears came into his eyes as his friend left the 
cell. 

A hundred thoughts came crowding through 


*40 


A DIFFICULTY 


his brain as Somme: s departed. What object 
could the State’s attorney have in sending for 
his friend ? Could it be that their intimacy had 
been noticed and reported, and that Mr. Olm- 
etead would attempt to force him to divulge 
their secrets ? Would he offer such inducements 
to Sommers as would outweigh his proffered 
friendship and induce him to betray the confi¬ 
dence that had been reposed in him ? He could 
not tell, and with bitter, anxious and doubtful 
thoughts pressing upon his mind, he left his 
cell and walked in the direction of the little 
room where he knew the conference was being 
held. 

No sound of the conversation reached his 
ears, and with aching heart, his mind filled 
with perplexing and agonizing doubts, he re¬ 
turned to his cell, and throwing himself upon 
the bed, he gave himself up to the dreadful 
thoughts that possessed him. 

At length he heard the opening and closing 
of the door, and soon the returning footsteps of 
Sommers sounded along the passage. 

Bucholz hastened out, and at once com muni- 



quarrel between William Bucholz and Edward Sommers. 































































































































































































AND AN ESTRANGEMENT. 241 

cated his fears to his friend—that he had be¬ 
trayed him. 

Sommers received this outburst with digni¬ 
fied calmness of demeanor, and finally turning 
upon his companion with a show of anger, he 
said: 

“I did not think that you had such a small 
opinion of me. I have been a friend to you 
all along, and it is not probable that I should 
change my position towards you now, but if 
you think so, I cannot help it.” 

Saying which, and with an injured air, 
Sommers left his friend, and going at once 
to his own cell he shut the door forcibly behind 
him. 

This was the commencement of an estrange¬ 
ment which lasted several days. These two 
men, formerly so intimate and friendly, avoided 
each other so pointedly that it was observed 
by all the inmates of the prison, and to none 
did it afford more gratification than to the 
curious and suspicious Brown, whose black 
eyes now glittered with a wicked satisfaction 
as he noticed the coolness that existed between 


11 


642 


A DIFFICULTY 


the two men whose previous friendliness had 
occasioned him so much concern. 

He immediately began to make advances 
toward Bucholz, with, however, but little suc¬ 
cess. William repelled his attempts at friend¬ 
liness, and seemed to be sorrowful and 
despondent. He missed the companionship 
of Sommers. He felt convinced that he had 
accused him unjustly, and the only man he 
cared for among the many by whom he was 
surrounded held himself aloof from him, and 
he had no disposition to make new friends. 

Three days elapsed, during which no com¬ 
munication took place between them, and this 
continued silence proved too much for William 
Bucholz. He missed the companionship that 
had whiled away so many weary hours, and 
unable to endure any longer the anger of his 
friend, he sat down and indited a letter to 
Sommers, apologizing for his actions and prof¬ 
fering a renewal of his friendship. 

This message was duly received by Sommers, 
who, in addition to their estrangement, appeared 
to be distressed about his own affairs, but who, 


AND AN ESTRANGEMENT. M 

nevertheless, welcomed the repentant Bucholz 
with all the cordiality of his disposition, and 
the coldness of the past few days was forgotten 
in this renewal of their friendship. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


The Reconciliation.—Bucholz makes an Important 
Revelation.—Sommers obtains His Liberty and 
leaves the Jail. 

JT is a truism almost as old as Time itself, 
that true love is never fully known until 
after the lovers have once quarreled and made 
their peace. The kiss of reconciliation after a 
temporary estrangement is frequently more 
potent than the first declaration of affection. 

Nor was the rule disproved in the present 
* case, and as the two men clasped hands upon 
the renewal of their seeming friendship, the 
crisis of their intercourse was reached. The 
separation of the past few days had shown 
Bucholz the necessity of a friendly voice and a 
friendly hand. The guilty secret which he had 
been keeping so long in his heart must find 
utterance—it had become heavy to bear. From 

this day forth all the concealment which he had 
[244 


BUCEOLZ MAKES A REVELATION . 243 


practiced upon Sommers were to be swept away 
before the tide of this reconciling influence. 
Hereafter they were to stand face to face, ac¬ 
knowledged criminals, whose joint interest was 
to secure their liberty; whose only object was 
to effect their escape from the meshes of the 
law they had outraged, and which now seemed 
to envelop them so completely. 

No protestations of innocence or acknowl¬ 
edgments of guilt were necessary — the bed¬ 
rock of an implicit and instinctive understand¬ 
ing had been reached, and each looked upon the 
other as fellow prisoners who were to suffer for 
their misdeeds, unless some potent agency in¬ 
tervened for their preservation. 

From the nature of their intercourse pre¬ 
ceding this event, Sommers did not entertain a 
single doubt of the guilt of William Bucholz. 
His avoidance of the matter while in conversa¬ 
tion ; the confusion which marked his demeanor 
as Sommers conveyed to him indirectly or 
otherwise his belief that he knew more of the 
murder than he had as yet admitted, and his 
weak denials—all went very far to confirm him 


246 


BUCHOLZ MAKES AN 


in the belief that William Bucholz, and him 
alone, was connected intimately and actively 
with the tragedy. 

At the interview which followed their recon¬ 
ciliation, Sommers appeared to be very much 
depressed, and gave his companion to under¬ 
stand that all his hopes of being admitted to 
bail had been disappointed on account of the 
failure of his attorney—who was also acting for 
Bucholz—to have the amount reduced, and of 
the inability of the friends upon whom he 
relied to furnish the large sum required. 

He also complained that the jailer had 
opened one of his letters and had discovered 
the fact that his relations were respectable peo¬ 
ple, who moved in good society, and who were 
as yet ignorant of his perilous and degrading 
situation. He was fearful that they would 
learn of his true condition unless he was en¬ 
abled soon to effect his release. He regretted 
this fact particularly, because it prevented him 
from assisting his friend, who needed so much 
the services of some one to act in his behalf, 
which service, despite the previous doubts that 


IMPORTANT REVELATION. 


$49 


had been entertained of him, he was still wil¬ 
ling but unable to rends?. 

The disappointment of Bucholz was no less 
acute than that of his companion. He had 
counted so securely upon the release of Som¬ 
mers, in order to enlist his services for his own 
safety, that the effect of this unpleasant infor¬ 
mation was painful to witness. 

At length, unable further to control himself, 
he threw his arms around Sommers, crying 
out: 

“ Oh, I wish I could only get out one night, 
one single night, then I could give you five 
hundred dollars, and all would be right! ” 

“ That is easily said,” replied Sommers, de- 
spondingly, “but if you did get out, where 
could you get the money \ ” 

“I am speaking the truth,” said Bucholz. 
“ If you wanted five thousand, I could give it 
to you, if I was only out one night. I could 
tell you a secret that would open your eyes, 
but as long as you are here I can do you no 
good, and you cannot help me.” 

Sommers, who was reclining upon the bed, 


*48 


BUCHOLZ MAKES AN 


raised himself upon his hand, and looking Bu 
cholz in the face with a knowing smile, said : 

“I suppose you would lift old Schulte’s 
treasure 1 ” 

Bucholz started slightly, but he had gone 
too far to retreat, and he admitted at once that 
if he could get out, he knew where the money 
of the murdered man was hid, and that no one 
beside himself possessed the knowledge. 

There was an instantaneous gleam of satis¬ 
faction in the eyes of Sommers as this informa¬ 
tion was conveyed to him, and he determined 
to secure his release at all hazards. New life 
seemed to be infused into him, and there was a 
glow of excitement in his ordinarily pallid face 
that told of the agitation of his mind. 

He jumped from the bed, and facing his 
companion, said: 

“I will get out of this if it is in the power of 
human effort to accomplish it. I will write to 
my friend at once, and no time shall be lost in 

the attempt.” 

This change in his manner soon communi¬ 
cated itself to Bucholz, and in a short time, 


IMPORTANT REVELATION. 341 

under the influence of this new-born hope, their 
conversation assumed a more cheerful strain, 
and bright pictures of the future were indulged 
in. 

Active measures were at once begun, the 
friends of Sommers were written to; another 
interview was had with the State’s attorney, 
and sufficient reasons were offered for a reduc¬ 
tion in the amount of the bail under which he 
was held. 

Mr. Olmstead, after listening to the state¬ 
ments made to him, agreed to the reduction 
asked for, and in a few days the necessary 
forms were gone through with. The requisite 
amount of money was deposited with the Court, 
and everything was in readiness for the release 
of Edward Sommers from his place of confine¬ 
ment. 

The information was conveyed to Bucholz 
and Sommers, while they were walking up and 
down the corridor during the hours in which 
they were released from their cells, and the ef¬ 
fect was observable upon the faces of both. 
Bucholz, while rejoicing in the accomplishment 


250 


BUCHOLZ MAKES AN 


of a result that would prove of incalculable 
benefit to himself, was none the less reluctant 
as the time approached, to part with the friend 
who had brightened many gloomy hours, and 
whose intercourse had produced such a benefi¬ 
cial change upon his spirits and disposition. 

He seemed loth, now that they were about 
to be separated, to utter the parting word, but 
as he thought of the advantage which this re¬ 
lease would be to him, he assumed a cheerful 
demeanor, and appeared rejoiced at his speedy 
deliverance. 

Their leave-taking was of the most friendly 
character, and after bestowing upon Bucholz 
the various articles which his cell contained, 
and many delicacies which had been received 
during his imprisonment, Sommers prepared to 
leave the prison. 

Clasping the hand of Bucholz, he whispered: 

“ Courage, William. I will see you often, 
and between us we will succeed in our under¬ 
taking yet.” 

Saying which, and after a cordial parting 
salutation from the genial and pleasant jailer. 


IMPORTANT REVELATION MH 

Mr. Wells, the doors of the prison were un¬ 
locked, and Edward Sommers walked out into 
the bright sunshine and inhaled the sweet fra¬ 
grance of a beautiful spring morning—a free 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


Sommers returns to Bridgeport.—An Interview with 
Mr. Bollman.—Sommers allays the Suspicions Of 
Bucholz’s Attorney, and engages him as his oum 

Counsel. 

nnHE cold, bleak winds of March had yielded 
to the warm and invigorating showers of 
April, and these had brought forth the bright 
flowers and fragrant grasses that grew and 
blossomed on this beautiful May morning, 
when Edward Sommers left the confining walls 
of the prison at Bridgeport. More than two 
months had elapsed since he entered its frown¬ 
ing portals to commence the isolated life of a 
prisoner, and a sigh of grateful relief escaped 
him as he gazed around upon the brightness 
and beauty of the scene that was spread before 
him. 

There was but little time given him for 
indulgence in these soothing and agreeable 

reveries. There was work for him to do, and 
252 


SOMMERS RETURNS TO BRIDGEPORT. 263 


he must summon up all his energies for the 
task before him. His release had been accom¬ 
plished, and the promised revelation of Buch- 
olz would be made to him in a few days, but he 
must visit those who had an interest in his 
welfare, and to whom he was responsible for 
his actions. He would also be enabled during 
the few days of rest to strengthen his shattered 
nerves and prepare himself for the important 
duties which would soon devolve upon him. 
He therefore took the train for Hew York and 
arrived there in due time. 

To William Bucholz the absence of his 
friend and confidant was a severe blow, but as 
he realized the service he promised to perform 
for him, and the prospect of safety that was 
opening before his despairing mind, he became 
reconciled to his lonely fate, and waited 
patiently for the return of the man who was 
expected to devote himself to his interests. 

The suspicious actions of Brown, the pris¬ 
oner who had watched their movements so zeal¬ 
ously, had not escaped the notice of both Som¬ 
mers and Bucholz, and, on leaving, the former 


254 SOMMERS RETURNS TO BRIDGEPORT. 

had cautioned his companion particularly and 
repeatedly against saying anything to him or 
to any one else about matters connected with 
his case. 

At the end of three days Edward Sommers 
returned to Bridgeport, and, selecting a private 
boarding-house, he took up his abode there and 
prepared to carry out the plans that were to be 
arranged between himself and William Bucholz. 

He considered it of paramount importance 
at the outset to disabuse the minds of the attor¬ 
neys for Bucholz of any suspicion in regard to 
the relations existing between them, and with 
that end in view he paid a visit to the city of 
New Haven, and finding Mr. Bollman, the 
counsel who had acted for both of them, at his 
office, he engaged him for the conduct of his 
own case when it should come to trial. 

In the course of the conversation which en¬ 
sued, Mr. Bollman turned suddenly to Som¬ 
mers, and said : 

“Do you know, Mr. Sommers, that I have 
earnestly and repeatedly warned my client 
against you ? I had reason to believe that the 


SOMMERS RETURNS TO BRIDGEPORT. 955 


prosecuting attorney had placed some one in 
the jail to cultivate the friendship of William 
Bucholz, in the attempt to obtain a confession 
from him, and I thought you were the man. 
William would not listen to this, however, and 
I myself believe now that such is not the case 
as regards yourself, but I told him that he must 
not trust any one with whom he was associated, 
nor make a confidant of any one in the prison. 
A man in his position, you know cannot be too 
careful.” 

Sommers listened attentively and good- 
humoredly to these remarks, and finally in¬ 
formed Mr. Bollman that he knew Bucholz had 
been warned against him, for he had told him 
so. 

“But, Mr. Bollman,” continued he, “you 
need not be afraid of me, for I have given him 
the same advice myself.” 

“ Do you know of any suspicious persons in 
the jail ? ” asked Mr. Bollman. 

“ I cannot tell with any certainty,” replied 
the other ; “ but I do not like the looks of one 
of the hall men, nor of that treacherous-looking 


256 SOMMERS RETURNS TO BRIDGEPORT. 

Brown, who is always spying upon the actions 
of the inmates of the prison. I have warned 
Bucholz against these men myself, and I do not 
think he has given them any information what¬ 
ever.” 

After a protracted conversation, during 
which Sommers labored diligently and success¬ 
fully to erase any latent suspicions from the 
mind of the attorney, Mr. Bollman at length 
said : 

“ Well, Mr. Sommers, to be candid with 
you, my suspicions were the most decidedly 
aroused when I had my interview with Mr. 
Olmstead, the State’s attorney, about your 
bail. He evinced an unwillingness to reduce 
the amount, and expressed a belief that you 
had known Bucholz before you came to the jail. 
His manner of speaking led me to think that he 
knew more about you than was good for my 
client, and I felt sure that he had been the 
means of placing you in the jail to watch him.” 

“ I quite agree with you, Mr. Bollman; it 
did look suspicious,” said Sommers ; “ but Mr. 
Olmstead asked me the same questions when I 


SOMMERS RETURNS TO BRIDGEPORT. *57 


spoke to him. I suppose he thought from our 
intimacy that I must have been acquainted with 
him before he was arrested.” 

With this explanation, and the ingenuous 
manner in which it was given, the mind of Mr. 
Bollman seemed to be at rest upon this subject, 
and their further conversation related to the 
case in which Sommers himself would appear 
as defendant, and in which Mr. Bollman was to 
act as his counsel. 

Sommers informed him that he had seen the 
gentleman whose name had been forged, and 
that, in consideration of the family connections 
of the accused, he had agreed not to appear 
against him, and that there would be very little 
danger of his conviction of the crime of which 
he was charged. 

This appeared to be very gratifying informa¬ 
tion for Mr. Bollman, who therefore anticipated 
very little trouble in clearing his client and 
earning his fee. 

It was further arranged between them that a 
letter should be sent to the relations of Buchola 
in Germany, who had not as yet displayed any 


258 SOMMERS RETURNS TO BRIDGEPORT. 

sympathy for the unfortunate man or made any 
offer of assistance to him, during the hour of 
his trial. 

One noticeable feature of their conversation 
was the evident avoidance by both of them of a 
discussion of the probable guilt or innocence of 
the accused man, nor did either declare his be¬ 
lief in his innocence. 

Mr. Bollman expressed himself very care¬ 
fully: “ I have followed up the theory of his 
guilt, and it does not agree with his own state¬ 
ments or those of other people. Then, again, I 
have taken up the theory of his innocence, and 
this does not agree with his story either. It is 
a most extraordinary case, and sometimes it 
seems to me that it cannot be otherwise but that 
William Bucholz is the guilty party ; and then, 
again, there are some of his actions that tend 
positively to show that he did not do it. I am 
at a loss what to say about it myself.” 

Sommers gave Mr. Bollman to understand 
that he believed in the guilt of the accused 
man, but that, in despite of that fact, hewas wil¬ 
ling to help him to the extent of his power. 


SOMMERS RETURNS TO BRIDGEPORT . 259 


And so they parted, and Edward Sommers 
returned to Bridgeport to be near his fellow- 
prisoner, and to carry out the plan which was 
to be entrusted to him. 

As he stepped from the train upon the plat¬ 
form, he was surprised to see the figure of 
Thomas Brown standing in the doorway of the 
station, evidently waiting for the train to bear 
him away for the time. Upon making inquiries 
he ascertained that he had been released on 
bail, and that he had found friends to assist 
him. He never saw him again. Whether this 
individual was an embryo detective, who was 
desirous of discovering the mystery of the 
Schulte murder, or whether he was simply a 
victim of intense curiosity, was never learned. 

He disappeared, and, so far as his relation to 
this narrative is concerned, was never heard of 
again. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


Sommers' Visit to South Norwalk.—He makes the 
Acquaintance of Sadie Waring.—A Successful 
Ruse.—Bucholz Confides to His Friend the Hid¬ 
ing Place of the Murdered Man's Money . 

TTPON the return of Edward Sommers to 
the jail at Bridgeport he was warmly 
welcomed by his friend, to whom the inter¬ 
vening days had passed slowly and wearily. 

His greeting was cordial and friendly, and 
as Sommers related his experiences during his 
absence, the eyes of William would light up 
with pleasure. No one to have looked at him 
now would have imagined for a moment that 
the face now wreathed with smiles had once 
been distorted by a murderous passion, oi 
grown ashen pale with the fear of the conse¬ 
quences of his action. 

Their conversation was long and seemingly 

interesting, and as Sommers unfolded his plans 
[ 260 J 


A SUCCESSFUL RUSE. 


261 


for the relief of the imprisoned man, all doubt 
of their success was dissipated from his mind, 
and visions of prospective safety came thick 
and fast. He still appeared doubtful of com¬ 
municating the promised secret of the hiding- 
place of the old man’s money to his companion. 
He avoided the subject by eager questions upon 
other topics, and when the time arrived for 
the departure of Sommers, the confidence was 
still withheld, and the position of the stolen 
money was known only to the man who had 
placed it there. 

Sommers had informed him of his visit to 
Mr. Bollman and of the conversation which 
had taken place between them relating to the 
suspicions entertained by him of Sommers, to 
all of which Bucholz listened with wrapt atten¬ 
tion, and when he was again solemnly cautioned 
about informing his counsel of the relations 
existing between them, or of their possession 
of any of the wealth of the murdered man, with 
a peculiar twinkle in his eye he promised a 
strict obedience. 

Finding it impossible to extract anything 


262 


A SUCCESSFUL RUBE. 


from him upon this visit, Sommers took his 
Leave, promising to return upon the next day 
that visitors were admitted, and also agreeing 
to furnish him with some delicacies for which 
he had expressed a desire. 

Sommers began to grow impatient under 
this continued procrastination and evasion, and 
he resolved to take such measures as would 
accomplish the object desired. He had found, 
during his connection with Bucholz, that he 
had not the slightest regard for the truth. He 
would make the most astounding assertions, 
unblushingly insisting upon their truthfulness, 
and even when brought face to face with facts 
which contradicted his statements, he would 
stubbornly decline to be convinced or to admit 
his error or falsehood. All through their inter¬ 
course he had evinced this tendency to exag¬ 
geration and untruthfulness, and Sommers had 
grown to be very skeptical with regard to any 
statement which he would make. 

He had promised William to visit the farm¬ 
house where Henry Schulte had resided, and to 
call upon the family of the Warings, who still 


4 SUCCESSFUL FUSE. 268 

continued to reside there, and to carry a mes¬ 
sage to Sadie. Accordingly, one morning he 
started for South Norwalk, and, arriving there 
in safety, he walked up the main road, and, 
entering through the gate in front of the house, 
he knocked at the door. 

The family were all absent except Sadie, 
who greeted the new-comer in a friendly man¬ 
ner. He announced himself as a friend of Wil¬ 
liam’s, and conveyed to her the affectionate 
messages which he had been entrusted with. 
Sadie appeared to be rejoiced at the information 
which he brought, and soon became quite com¬ 
municative to the young man. She related 
to him the incidents of the murder, and ex¬ 
pressed her belief in the innocence of Bucholz, 
and her hopes of his acquittal. 

Sommers, by the exercise of a little good 
nature and that tact which is generally ac¬ 
quired by a man of the world, succeeded in in¬ 
gratiating himself into the favor of the young 
lady, and when, after spending some time in 
her company, he arose to take his leave, she 
volunteered to accompany him a short distance 


A SUCCESSFUL RUSE . 


upon his journey, and to point out to him the 
spot where the murder had taken place. 

Her offer was cheerfully accepted by Som¬ 
mers, and they were soon chatting pleasantly 
on their way through the fields. Arriving at 
the strip of woods, they walked along the nar¬ 
row path and Sadie designated to him the place 
where the body had been found. 

Very different now was the scene presented. 
The trees, whose branches were then bare, were 
now covered with their bright and heavy ver¬ 
dure ; the ground, that then was hard ana 
frozen, was now carpeted with the luxurious 
grass ; the birds sang merrily overhead, and the 
warm sunshine lighted up the wood with a 
beauty far different than was apparent upon 
that bleak winter night when Henry Schulte 
met his death upon the spot where they now 

V 

were standing. 

They then walked together up the railroad, 
and meeting the mother and sister returning 
heme, Sommers bade them a pleasant good-bye 
and promised to pay them another visit as soon 
as practicable. 


A SUCCESSFUL RUSE . 


26 * 

He determined to make this visit the ground¬ 
work of a definite attack upon the reticence of 
William Bucholz. The next morning, upon go¬ 
ing to the jail, he informed William of his visit 
to South Norwalk, and of his meeting with 
Sadie Waring. After relating the various inci¬ 
dents that had occurred during his visit, and 
which were listened to with lively interest, he 
turned suddenly to Bucholz, and lightly said: 

“By the wav, Bucholz, the Warings are go¬ 
ing to move.” 

Bucholz started suddenly, as though the in¬ 
formation conveyed an unpleasant surprise. 

“ You must not let them move, Sommers,” 
he exclaimed quickly, and with an evidence of 
fear in his voice. “ That will never do.” 

“ I can not prevent their moving,” replied 
Sommers. “ They will do as they please about 
that, I guess. Besides, what has their moving 
got to do with us ? ” 

“Oh, everything, everything,” exclaimed 
Bucholz. 

“ Well, they are going at all events.” 

“ Then the money must be got. Oh, Som 


466 


A SUCCESSFUL RUSE. 


mers, do not betray me, but one of the pocket- 
books is in the barn.” 

“ Whereabouts in the barn ?” inquired Som¬ 
mers, almost unable to conceal his satisfaction 
at the success of his ruse. 

“ I will show you how to get it. I will draw 
a sketch of the barn, and show you just where 
it is to be found,” exclaimed William, hur¬ 
riedly. “Oh, my dear Sommers, you do not 
know how worried I have been. I first threw 
the money under the straw in the barn, and on 
the Sunday morning after old Schulte was 
killed I went out in the barn to get it, and put 
it in a safe place, when I found that the straw 
had been taken away. I stood there as if I was 
petrified, but I looked further, and there, under 
the loose straw upon the ground, I saw the 
pocket-book lying all safe. The man who had 
taken the straw away had not been smart 
enough to see it. I felt as though a bright 
gleam of sunshine had come over me, and I 
picked it up and hid it away in a safe place. 
My God ! My God ! WTiat a fool I was.” 

“I should think so,” replied Sommers. 


A SUCCESSFUL FUSE. *67 

Bucholz then drew a sketch of the bam* and 
designated the hiding-place of the money as 
being under the flooring of the first stall that 
you met on entering. 

It was with great difficulty that Sommers 
retained his composure as he received this 
information, but he succeeded in controlling 
his emotions, and took the paper from the 
hands of his companion with a calmness which 
displayed the wonderful control which he 
exercised over himself. 

“There are some marks upon these bills,” 
said Bucholz with a laugh, “and if Mr. Olm- 
stead was to see them he would know what 
they mean.” 

“Ah, yes,” replied Sommers. “They are 
the numbers which Mr. Schulte put upon 
them, but,” he added, confidently, “I will 
soon fix that, a little acid will take that all 
out and nobody will know anything about ^t.” 

The prisoner laughed, gleefully, and slap¬ 
ping his companion upon the back, exclaimed; 

“ Ah, Sommers, you are a devil of a fellow! 
and I can trust your skill in anything.” 


268 


A SUCCESSFUL RUSE. 


He then informed Sommers that he did 
not know how much money was in the pocket- 
book; that he had taken some fifty and one- 
hundred-dollar bills out of it, but that fearing 
to have so much money about him he had 
replaced a large portion of what he had 
previously taken. 

The time was now approaching for visitors 
to leave the prison, and Sommers arose to go. 
Bucholz arose also, as if some new idea had 
occurred to him, or he had formed some new 
resolve; he said: 

“While you are there you may as well 
get—•” then he stopped abruptly, and changing 
his mind, he added: “But never mind, that 
is too—high up.” 

Sommers felt confident that his companion 
was withholding something from him, and he 
was resolved that before he had finished, he 
would arrive at the whole of the mystery, but 
he had gained enough for one day and he 
was compelled to be satisfied. 

Before leaving Bucholz for that day he 
informed him that he would take the money 


A SUCCESSFUL FUSE. 


26ft 


to New York and endeavor to get the marks 
out of the bills ; that he would then throw 
the empty pocket-book in some place, where it 
would be found, and that would be a good 
thing for him upon the trial. 

Bucholz caught greedily at this suggestion, 
and laughed loudly at the prospect of blinding 
the eyes of justice by the operation of this 
clever trick. 

Leaving him in this excellent good humor, 
Sommers took his departure from the jail, and, 
in a jubilant frame of mind, returned to the 

town. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


Edward Sommers as the Detective ,— A Visit to th* 
Dam , and Dart of the Money Discovered ,— The 
Detective makes Advances to the Counsel of the 
Prisoner.—A Further Confidence of an Import • 
ant Nature, 

HE reader is no doubt by this time fully 



aware of the character of Edward Som¬ 
mers- He was a detective, and in my employ. 
Day by day, as his intimacy with William 
Bucholz bad increased, I had been duly in¬ 
formed of the fact. Step by step, as he had 
neared the point desired, I had received the in¬ 
formation and advised the course of action. 

Every night before retiring the detective 
would furnish me with a detailed statement of 
the proceedings of the day which had passed, 
and I was perfectly cognizant of the progress he 
made, and was fully competent, by reason of 
that knowledge, to advise and direct his future 
movements. 


[270] 


A. VISIT TO THE BARN. *71 

The manner of his arrest had been planned 
by me, and successfully carried out; the money 
package had been made up in my office, and 
the forged order was the handiwork of one of 
my clerks, and the ingenious manner of carry¬ 
ing out this matter had completely deluded his 
accusers, by whom the charge was made in per 
feet good faith. 

During his occupancy of the prison he had 
so thoroughly won the confidence of William 
Bucholz that he had become almost a necessity 
to him. This guilty man, hugging to himself 
the knowledge of his crime and his ill-gotten 
gains, had found the burden too heavy to bear. 
Many times during their intercourse had he 
been tempted to pour into the ears of his sud¬ 
denly-discovered friend the history of his life, 
and only the stern and frequently-repeated 
commands of his watchful counsel had pre¬ 
vented the revelation. But the time had come 
when, either through the fear of losing what he 
had risked so much to gain, or from the impel¬ 
ling force of that unseen agency which seeks a 
companion or a confidant, he had confided to 


272 


A VISIT TO THE BARN. 


his fellow-prisoner the hiding-place of the old 
man’s wealth—the money stained with the life¬ 
blood of his master. 

How much he may have been guided to this 
course by the question of self-interest is a mat¬ 
ter of speculation. He had been cruel enough 
to strike this old man down and to rob him of 
his money. He had been wary enough to wound 
himself, and to have feigned a terror which had 
deluded many into a belief in his innocence. 
He had been sufficiently sagacious to keep from 
his attorneys all knowledge of this money, and 
he had repeatedly denied to Sommers, and to 
every one else, any participation in the dark 
deed of that winter’s night. 

When, however, it appeared to be possible 
that his fellow-prisoner might be of assistance 
to him in his approaching trial, and that this 
assistance could only be rendered by the release 
of Sommers from jail, he had caught at the sug¬ 
gestion and the result had followed. 

I became convinced as matters progressed 
that whatever knowledge Bucholz had of the 
crime would never be communicated while Som- 


A VISIT TO THE BARN. 


276 


mers remained a prisoner, and hence, after he 
had been confined long enough to accomplish 
the preliminary object in view, I arranged that 
his bail should be reduced and that he should 
be released. 

It is not necessary to relate in detail the 
daily intercourse of these two men during their 
days of joint imprisonment. How Sommers, 
by dexterous questioning, had fathomed the 
mind of the suspected murderer, and become so 
closely identified with his interests, that he was 
regarded as the only man upon whom he could 
rely for assistance. 

The detective had played his part admira¬ 
bly. Although the constant object of suspi¬ 
cion, he had succeeded in overcoming all doubts 
that were entertained of his true position ; and, 
although Bucholz had been repeatedly warned 
by his counsel against this man in particular, 
he had successfully outwitted them, and knew 
more of their client than they had been able to 
learn. 

After obtaining the information as to the 
place where William had secreted the money 
12 * 


174 


A VISIT TO THE BARF. 


which had been taken from the murdered man, 
Sommers at once telegraphed, in cipher, the 
fact to my New York agency and requested in¬ 
structions how to proceed. A trusted operative 
was at once sent to act with him, and to accom¬ 
pany him upon his visit to the barn in search of 
the treasure, and operative John Curtin was the 
man selected for that duty. 

He left New York on the following morn¬ 
ing, and, arriving at Bridgeport, had an inter¬ 
view with Edward Sommers, and together they 
devised the plan by which they were to get pos¬ 
session of the dead man’s money. 

They accordingly boarded the train for South 
Norwalk, and upon their arrival they separated 
and proceeded up the railroad track until they 
were out of sight of any curious eyes about the 
depot, when they rejoined each other and con¬ 
tinued on their way. 

The barn where the money was alleged to 
be hidden stood between the house and the 
strip of woods through which they had come, 
and the large double doors were upon the side 
facing them. It was necessary that every pre 


A VISIT TO THE BARN. 


m 


caution should be taken against being observed, 
and consequently it was decided that Sommers 
should enter the barn, while Curtin, reclining 
under one of the trees, would be enabled to 
keep watch and to warn his companion, should 
any one approach the barn and threaten de¬ 
tection. 

This plan being arranged, Somers walked 
directly towards the barn, the doors of which 
were closed and fastened upon the inside by 
a swinging bar. Inserting his hand through 
an opening in the wood-work, he pushed the 
bar from its place, and the doors flew open. 

Hastily entering the building, he found the 
interior to correspond exactly with the descrip¬ 
tion given him by Bucholz, and a hurried 
glance showed him at once the place where 
the pocket-book was alleged to have been hid¬ 
den. 

He soon reached the designated spot, and, 
reaching under the loose flooring near the 
head of the stairs, his eyes lighted up with 
satisfaction as his hand came in contact with 
the leather book which he had half hoped 


876 


A VISIT TO THE BARN. 


and half doubted to find there. Quickly re 
moving it from its place of concealment, he 
deposited it in the inner pocket of his coat 
and ran from the barn in the direction of the 
spot where his companion was lying. 

John Curtin was provided with a stout ad¬ 
hesive envelope, and producing this, the earth- 
stained wallet was at once enclosed within it, 
and in the presence of the other the packet 
was sealed up securely. The two men then 
walked to the next station, and taking the 
train for New York, came directly to the 
agency. 

The German Consul was notified, and in a 
short time he made his appearance, when the 
package was placed in his hands, and he was 
requested to open it. 

He did so, and the contents of the book 
were counted in his presence and in that of 
Mr. Bangs and my son Robert. It was found 
to contain , the sum of four thousand seven 
hundred and thirty-seven dollars, in United 
States money, each note bearing the numbers 
which had been placed upon them by Henry 


A VISIT TO THE BARN, 277 

Schulte and which had also been discovered 
upon the money which Bucholz had been so 
lavish in expending after the murder and prior 
to his arrest. 

The gratification of all at the success thus 
far achieved was apparent upon their faces. 
Whatever belief had existed in their minds prior 
to this of the innocence of the man accused 
was swept away before this substantial and 
convincing proof of his guilt. All felt that we 
were upon the right track, and that the course 
pursued had been the only practical one under 
the circumstances. 

The money, after being carefully counted, 
was enclosed in a wrapper of heavy brown paper, 
to which the German Consul affixed his seal, 
and the package was placed in the fire-proof at 
the agency for safe keeping, until a final dispo¬ 
sition should be made of it. 

It was evident that the money thus discov 
ered was but a small portion of that which had 
been taken from the person of Henry Schulte, 
and Edward Sommers was directed to return to 
Bridgeport and continue his visits to Buchola 


278 


A VISIT TO THE BARIT. 


and liis attempts to obtain further information 
regarding the balance. 

Bucholz had previously suggested to Som- 
mers that some one should be sent to Germany 
to endeavor to procure some of the money 
which he had inherited from his uncle, in order 
to enable him to bear the expenses of his trial, 
and he had requested the detective to under 
take the voyage. Sommers had demurred to this, 
and had recommended to his companion that 
Mr. Bollman, who was also a German, be com¬ 
missioned for that purpose. This would induce 
the absence of the attorney and his cautions, 
and enable him to work with more freedom 
upon the prisoner. He therefore had offered to 
loan to Bucholz the amount of money that 
would be required to defray the expenses of 
such visit, and to take the note of his friend for 
the amount. 

Mr. Bollman cheerfully assented to this 
proposition, and only awaited the furnishing of 
the loan by Sommers to embark upon his jour¬ 
ney to the home of Bucholz, and to attempt the 
collection of the money which he had inherited. 


A VISIT TO THE BARN. 


*7* 


Sommers was therefore provided with the 
sum of three hundred and fifty dollars in 
money which did not bear any of the marks 
that had been placed upon the notes belonging 
to Henry Schulte, and that evening he returned 
to Bridgeport. 

He visited William the next day and in¬ 
formed him of the success of his visit and of the 
finding of the money. He also told him that he 
had placed the package in a safe place, but that 
he had not yet been successful in removing the 
marks, owing to the peculiar nature of the ink 
with which the numbers had been made. 

Bucholz seemed to be both pleased and re 
lieved with the results obtained, but seemed 
anxious that the money should be furnished 
for Mr. Bollman’s departure as early as pos¬ 
sible. 

Sommers then told him that he had suc¬ 
ceeded in borrowing some money from a friend 
of his, which he would advance for that pur¬ 
pose, but that, in order to fully deceive Mr. 
Bollman, William should give him his note, in 
the presence of the attorney, for the amount 


280 


A VISIT TO THE BARN. 


Upon this being done, the money would be 
forthcoming, and Mr. Bollman could depart at 

once. 

The next day Mr. Bollman visited the ac¬ 
cused man by appointment, and the matter was 
explained to him by Sommers and Bucholz. 
He announced his approval of the loan about 
to be made. The note was duly drawn, the 
money counted out, and Bucholz handed the 
amount to his counsel. 

As Mr. Bollman received the money, he 
looked up quickly and inquired, in a quiet man¬ 
ner : 

“ This money is not on the list, is it ?” 

It was a very adroit question, had the detec¬ 
tive not been upon his guard, but without 
flinching, he looked doubtfully but steadily 
into his face, as he inquired: 

“What list? I don’t know what you 
mean.” 

“Oh I” replied Mr. Bollman, with alight 
laugh, “ I thought this might possibly be some 
of Schulte’s money.” 

At this they all laughed, and the mind of 


A VISIT TO THE BARN. 


2:n 


the attorney seemed to be set at rest upon the 
point of Sommers’ knowledge of anything in 
connection with the wealth of Henry Schulte. 

After Mr. Bollman’s departure from the 
jail, Sommers, turning to Bucholz, said, in a 
quiet, unconcerned manner: 

t “ I heard that the Schulte estate has been 
sold, and that the new-comer intends to tear 
down the buildings at once. He bought it on 
speculation, and expects to find Schulte’s 
money.” 

Bucholz was visibly affected by this infor¬ 
mation. His face became pale, and his lips 
trembled as with suppressed emotion. 

“They won’t find anything there, though,” 
laughingly continued Sommers, apparently ig¬ 
noring the excitement of his companion. “We 
have got ahead of them.” 

“My God!” exclaimed Bucholz, not heed¬ 
ing the last remark. “ This must not be done. 
I will trust you, Sommers, and we must get the 
other pocket-book. You must go there and get 
it.” 

The excitement and distress of the young 


282 


.4 VISIT TO THE BAHJS . 


man were unmistakable, as he proceeded slow¬ 
ly and tremblingly to inform Sommers where 
the other book was to be found. 

“ My dear Sommers, yon must get this other 
money—it is in the barn also. In one corner 
there is a bench, and under this bench there is 
a large stone—you must dig under this stone 
and there you will find it.” 

Sommers listened intently to the directions 
given, and promised to perform the duty that 
was imposed upon him, and, hiding the satis¬ 
faction that he felt, he soon after took his 
leave from his companion, who now seemed 
greatly relieved at the prospect of saving this 
treasure for which he had sacrificed so much, 
and which now seemed in such imminent dan¬ 
ger. 

With mingled emotions of pride and satis¬ 
faction, Sommers left the jail and proceeded on 
his way to his lodgings. 

After a long struggle he had been successful. 
“The falcon, after many airy circlings, had 
made its swoop at last,” and its polished talons 


A VISIT TO THE BaRN. 


288 


had done their work not unsuccessfully. The 
stricken quarry might flutter for a while, but 
the end would be soon and sore. 


CHAPTER XXVTL 


A Midnight Visit to the Barn.—The Detective wields 
a Shovel to some Advantage .— Fifty Thousand 
Dollars found in the Earth.—A good NighCs 
Work. 

npHE day following the revelations made in 
the preceding chapter, Edward Sommers 
returned to the agency and communicated the 
information which he had received the day 
before, and awaited instructions before proceed- 
ing further in the matter. 

My son Robert A. Pinkerton determined to 
accompany him upon this visit to the barn, and 
he also requested the German Consul to dele¬ 
gate some one from his office to be one of the 
party. To this proposition the German Consul 
at once assented, and Paul Schmoeck, an 
attache of the Consulate, was selected to ac¬ 
company them upon their visit to the Sohulte 
estate. 

Procuring a dark lantern and a garden 
[ 284 ] 


A GOOD NIGHT '8 WORK. 235 

spade, the party left New York about nine 
o’clock in the evening, and, without accident or 
delay, arrived at South Norwalk. On leaving 
the train, they separated, and Sommers, being 
acquainted with the road, walked on in ad¬ 
vance. In order to avoid attracting attention 
they walked up the main street of the town a 
short distance, and then, changing their course, 
they reached the railroad, along which they 
traveled until they arrived at the strip of woods 
in which Henry Schulte had met his death. 
They traveled along the narrow pathway and 
reached the stone wall, from which the house 
and barn stood in full view. 

The evening was beautiful indeed—a bright 
moon illuminated the landscape almost with the 
luminous light of day. The air was still, and 
not a breath rustled among the leaves of the 
trees overhead. A silence profound and impres¬ 
sive reigned over all. From afar the rumbling 
of the train which they had left was borne upon 
the air. Involuntarily the three men who had 
come to this place upon a far different errand 


286 


A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK. 


stood in silent admiration of the natural beaut* 
that was spread before them. 

Fearing that Henry Waring might have re¬ 
mained away from home later than was his 
wont, they waited until they felt reasonably 
sure of a freedom from interruption in their 
labor, and then, having finally concluded that 
all was safe, they proceeded quietly to the barn, 
whose doors were wide open, and offered no bar 
to their entrance. 

Lighting their lantern, they thoroughly 
searched the interior, in order to discover if 
any tramps had taken refuge under its roof. 
All was quiet as the grave. The moonbeams 
shone through the open door, lighting up the 
barn with its rays, and almost revealing the 
figures of the men who were within. They 
were afraid to close the doors, which they had 
found open, lest some one looking from the 
windows of the farm-house should suspect its 
being occupied and be tempted to make an ex¬ 
amination. 

The spot designated by Bucholz was easily 
discovered, but, to the dismay of the visitors, 


A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK. 


287 


they found that a large quantity of bark had 
been piled upon that particular corner of the 
barn, and that upon the top of this were thrown 
several sheets of tin, which had evidently been 
taken from the roof of some building. 

There was no help for it, however; the bark 
and tin must be removed, and Edward Sommers, 
throwing off his coat and vest, went to work 
with a will. Robert held the lantern, while 
Paul Schmoeck stood by, with his hands in his 
pockets, eagerly awaiting developments. 

The rattling of the tin, as it was being 
removed, was so loud that it was feared the 
sleepers.in the farm-house would be awakened 
by the noise. They stopped and listened. 
Evidently their slumbers were profound, for 
not a sound came from its enclosing walls. 

The bark was soon disposed of, and then 
Edward Sommers grasped the spade and struck 
it into the ground. The clock in the distant town 
struck midnight as he commenced the task. 
Eagerly he worked and eagerly watched the two 
men beside him. Their eyes seemed to pierce 
through the damp mold, and every spadeful of 


288 


A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK, 


dirt, as it was thrown up, seemed to increase 
their anxiety. Steadily worked the detective, 
and the new earth lay piled around him, but as 
yet no indication of the treasure they sought. 
The perspiration rolled from the face of the 
anxious Sommers, and a doubt began to creep 
slowly into his mind. Robert, too, partook of 
the anxiety of his companion, while Paul 
Schmoeck, who scarcely understood the object 
of their visit, looked doubtfully upon the pro¬ 
ceedings and indulged in frequent mutterings of 
disappointment. 

Could it be possible that they had been 
deceived—that they were seeking for something 
which had no existence ? Could Bucholz have 
imposed upon the credulity of Sommers and 
sent him upon this fool’s errand? Or could the 
detective have made a mistake in the location 
designated ? One or the other seemed to be the 
case. But hark! the spade strikes a hard sub¬ 
stance ; it must be the stone mentioned by 
Bucholz. With redoubled energy the detective 
wields his implement, and, at last, as he with* 
draws it from the ground, something glitters in 


A GOOD NIGHT'8 WORK. 


the ray of the lantern. A closer examination 
disclosed several bright gold pieces, mingled 
with the dark lumps of dirt which had been 
lifted by the spade. 

An audible sigh of relief escaped them all as 
they looked. Robert took out his pocket-hand¬ 
kerchief, and the coins, dirt and all, were de¬ 
posited within it. Surely success was certain 
now—and soon, by carefully digging away the 
surrounding earth, the detective was enabled to 
place his hands beneath the stone. Then, with 
a joyful cry, he withdrew a large wallet, and 
held it up exultingly before his excited com¬ 
panions. 

Ah, yes, victory was assured now, and, after 
carefully searching around the stone to discover 
if anything else had been hidden there, the wal¬ 
let was placed in the handkerchief along with 
the coins, and they prepared to leave the 
place. 

The earth was replaced, the bark and tin 
were piled upon the top of it, and after they 
had finished, nothing in the appearance of 
things would indicate that midnight workers 
13 


S0O 


A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK 


had been there, or that the murdered man’s 
treasure had been discovered and removed. 

The overwrought nerves of the worker and 
watchers were strengthened by a long draught 
of prime “ Eau de vie,” which had been brought 
along by the considerate Paul, and after making 
sure that everything was as they had found it, 
they left the barn and proceeded toward the 
railroad. 

It was necessary now to get rid of the lan¬ 
tern and the spade. To retain them would be 
hazardous—they might be stopped upon the 
road, and the possession of a dark lantern and 
a wallet of money would be strong evidences of 
something else than a detective operation, and 
besides this, secrecy was all-important at the 
present time. 

Passing a ravine some distance from the 
scene of their operations, Robert threw the lan¬ 
tern away, and it dropped to the bottom with a 
noise that was echoed upon the quiet air ; further 
on, the spade was disposed of, and then, disen¬ 
cumbered, the trio walked to Stamford, about 
eight miles distant, where they boarded a train 


A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK. 291 

and returned to New York, well pleased with 
the result of their night’s work. 

It was six o’clock when they arrived. They 
proceeded at once to the Windsor Hotel, where 
the German Consul resided, and, awakening 
that gentleman, Robert sent up his card, when 
they were admitted to his parlor and the pack¬ 
age was exhibited to his astonished gaze. 

To count the contents of this enclosure was 
now the next duty to be performed, and in 
the presence of all the parties the labor was 
at once commenced. The gold pieces were 
found to amount to one hundred marks— 
consisting of three twenty-mark and four ten- 
mark pieces—and it was noticed that one of 
them had a hole drilled through it. The wallet 
next received attention. It was discovered to 
be a pocket-book enclosed in a canvas wrapper, 
securely sewed together and fastened with 
sealing-wax. 

The German Consul removed this outer 
covering and the black leather book was dis¬ 
closed to view, whioh gave evidence of con¬ 
taining no small amount of money. 


292 


A GOOD NIGHT'8 WORK. 


The contents were removed, and upon count 
ing it, were found to amount to two hundred 
and four thousand marks, in one-thousand- 
mark bills—or nearly fifty thousand dollars. 
Verily a good night’s work, and one to be 
proud of. 

The murdered man’s money had been found, 
and the man who had stained his hands with 
blood would never reap the benefit of his 
crime. 

The notes, from their long continuance in 
the damp ground, were quite moist and adhered 
closely together, and the German Consul was 
therefore required to lift them carefully with 
his knife, and great care was necessary in 
handling them. Each of these notes was 
found to be numbered in the same manner as 
those recovered upon the first visit, and a 
complete list was made by which they could 
afterwards be identified. 

Besides the money, the package contained 
some cards, and a foreign passport in the 
name of John Henry Schulte, dated in April, 
1878. 


A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK. 


29a 


After counting the money, it was, together 
with the articles found, wrapped in stout 
brown paper and duly labeled. All present 
then affixed their signatures to the wrapper, 
after which the German Consul wrote out a 
receipt for them, which was taken charge of 
by Robert. 

They then partook of some refreshments, 
after which they departed, and feeling com¬ 
pletely exhausted after their laborious experi¬ 
ence of the night before, Robert and Edward 
Sommers sought their couches, and were soon 
wrapt in slumber. 

The German Consul was elated at the suc¬ 
cess which had crowned our efforts, and he no 
longer entertained a single doubt of the guilt of 
the miserable man, in whose behalf he had 
originally interested himself. 

The information of our success was con¬ 
veyed to Mr. Olmstead, the State’s attorney, 
who received it with evident surprise and satis¬ 
faction. We had succeeded beyond his expec¬ 
tations, and the correctness of his original 
theory had been fully demonstrated. 


294 


A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK. 


He experienced the proud consciousness of 
being able to successfully prosecute a criminal 
who had violated the law, and to convict a 
wretch who had taken a human life in order to 
possess himself of the blood-stained fruits of 
his crime. 

While all this was transpiring the guilty 
man passing the weary hours indulging in alter¬ 
nate hopes of escape, and oppressed with har¬ 
rowing fears of punishment. 


CHAPTER XXVm. 


The Detective manufactures Evidence for the Defense. 
—An Anonymous Letter.—An important Inter¬ 
view.—The Detective triumphs over the Attorney . 

^JMIESE events occurred during the latter 
part of May, and the trial would not take 
place until early in September. It was neces¬ 
sary therefore that the utmost secrecy should 
be observed in reference to what had transpired, 
ana especially so far as William Bucholz was 
concerned. 

The visits of Edward Sommers to the jail 
must be continued, and every effort must be 
made to pierce through the dead wall of Buch- 
olz’s silence and reserve in relation to the mur¬ 
der. 

Hitherto when in their conversations the 
subject of the murder had been mentioned, and 
Sommers would quietly hint at his complicity, 
the other, with a shrug of his shoulders and a 

peculiar smile, would abruptly change the con- 

rS95] 


296 


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER 


versation. His strong will and the constant 
admonitions of his counsel had prevented him 
from revealing in any manner the secret of his 
crime, and except for certain actions, small in 
themselves, but speaking a “confirmation 
strong as holy writ,” he had given no sign 
that he was acquainted with the dreadful cir¬ 
cumstances, or had any knowledge of the affair 
other than had been already related by him. 

After arriving in Bridgeport, Sommers 
hastened to the jail and found Bucholz impa¬ 
tiently awaiting his arrival. He was nervous 
and excited, and his mind was troubled about 
the success of the enterprise upon which Som¬ 
mers had gone. 

The news which the detective brought 
reassured him, however, and he laughed gayly 
as he thought that his money was now safe 
from the reach of any one but himself and 
his friend. 

There was something so cold and brutal 
about this laugh of Bucholz that caused the 
detective involuntarily to shudder as he gazed 
upon him. Here between the narrow walls 


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER, 


297 


oI a prison cell he stood face to face with a 
man who had taken a human life, and who 
stood almost in the awful presence of retri¬ 
butive justice, yet his laugh was as clear and 
ringing, and his face as genial as though no 
trial awaited him and no judgment was in 
store. 

The sensitive nature of the detective recoiled 
from such close contact with this crime-stained 
man, but his duty required it and he performed 
it manfully and well. 

He related to Bucholz his visit to the bam 
(omitting, of course, to state who his compan¬ 
ions were) and the finding of the money. As 
he mentioned the discovery of the gold pieces, 
Bucholz exclaimed: 

“ Gold pieces ! I cannot tell for the world 
how they got there. I don’t know anything 
about them.” 

It was evident that he had not examined 
this package prior to burying it in the ground, 
and Sommers suggested the possibility of their 
having been wrapped in the paper which 
enclosed the canvas-covered book. 


398 


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER. 


“You were very careless to put the money 
in such a place,” continued Sommers; “the 
notes were so rotten, I was almost afraid to 
handle them.” 

“You mean,” said Bucholz, with a laugh, 
“ that Schulte was careless, not me;” then 
starting up he walked backward and forward, 
exclaiming: “ My God, how careless I was 1 ” 
“Yes,” replied Sommers, “after risking so 
much, you should have taken better care of 
it.” 

Bucholz stopped in his walk, and facing 
his companion asked in a manner that gave 
every evidence of insincerity, 

“ Do you think that I killed him ? ” 

“ I think you know something about it,” 
replied Sommers, gazing steadily into the eyes 
of his questioner. “Do you think if tramps 
had killed him, they would have left twenty 
thousand dollars upon his person?” 

“Well,” said Bucholz, laugning in a be¬ 
wildered manner, and then, as if taking comfort 

from the reflection and anxious to change the 
13 * 


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER. 


209 


conversation, “the money is all right, any¬ 
how.” 

Yes, the money was, indeed, all right, but 
not in the sense he deluded himself by believ¬ 
ing. 

They then discussed the various measures 
that were to be adopted in order to deceive the 
officers of the State. 

It was arranged that the two pocket-books 
should be thrown behind a large rock that 
stood by the railroad track, directly opposite 
the path which led through the woods and 
along which the old man and himself were in 
the habit of traveling. Bucholz seemed over 
joyed at this proposition, and with many flatter¬ 
ing expressions complimented his companion 
upon the wisdom of his suggestions. They 
would have continued further, but the time had 
arrived for closing the jail, and Sommers was 
compelled to take his departure. 

Upon the occasion of his next visit he found 
a marked change in William Bucholz. He 
appeared to be silent and depressed in spirits. 
Horrible dreams had visited his fitful slumbers, 


800 


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER. 


and the accusing voice of the murdered man 
had rung in his ears during the solemn 
watches of the night. The paiiid, blood-stained 
face of Henry Schulte had appeared to him, and 
his conscience had been an active producer of 
unrest and terror. Try as he would, that awful 
presence followed him, and he found sleep to be 
an impossibility. Hollow-eyed and sad, he 
greeted the detective, and as he cordially shook 
him by the hand, he noticed that a spasm of 
pain crossed the face of the prisoner. 

“What is the matter, William ?” he anx¬ 
iously inquired. Have you seen a ghost ? ” 

“Oh, no,” replied the other, with a shiver— 
it is nothing, only a little cold, I guess.” 

The quick eye of the detective could not be 
deceived—something had occurred of more than 
usual import, and he was determined to ascer¬ 
tain what it was. Pressing him closely, Bucholz 
admitted, with a forced smile, that on the day 
before, he had been reading Schiller’s play of 
“ The Robbers,” and that becoming excited by 
the heroic action of “Carl von Moor,” he had 
thoughtlessly plunged his penknife, vhich he 


AN AN 02V YM0 US LETTER. 


801 


had in his hand at the time, into his own side. 
The blade had touched a rib, however, and that 
prevented the wound from being very serious. 
The blood had flowed copiously from the in¬ 
cision thus made, and the wound was even now 
very painful. 

Sommers, at a glance, saw through this 
flimsy pretext, and realized at once what had 
happened. The miserable man, nervous and 
excited, had, in the excess of fear, attempted to 
take his own life. The grim specters of the 
night were too horrible to endure, and he had 
sought to escape their torments by the act 
which he had attempted. 

His shirt had been saturated with blood, and 
he had been compelled to destroy it to prevent 
detection. 

Sommers lectured him roundly upon this 
exhibition of weakness, and, after a time spent 
in friendly advice, he succeeded in reassuring 
him. 

Bucholz related to him at this interview a 
dream which he said he had the evening before. 
He had seen the court assembled—the room waa 


802 


AN ANONYMOUS BETTER, 


filled with people and his trial was going on 
Then, stopping suddenly in his narration, he 
gazed wildly at his companion, and exclaimed: 

“ If you are a detective, you have made a 
nice catch this time. But, you see I have a 
steady hand yet, and if you were to take the 
stand against me, I would rise in my place and 
denounce you to the court. Then I would 
plunge a knife into my heart.” 

The detective looked unflinchingly and 
scornfully into the glaring eyes of the man 
before him, and laughed lightly at his ravings. 
He resolved, however, in order to prevent acci¬ 
dents, that every precaution should be taken 
against the occurrence of such a scene. 

He had no fear that Bucholz would do what 
he threatened. At heart he knew the man to 
be a coward. No one who could stealthily 
creep behind his unsuspecting victim and deal 
the deadly blow of an assassin could, in his 
opinion, possess the moral courage to face a 
death by his own hands, and particularly after 
the failure of this first attempt. 

He did not communicate this opinion to the 


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER. 309 

prisoner, but he treated the subject in a jesting 
manner, and told him that if he heard any 
more of such nonsense he would inform the 
prison authorities and his liberty would be cur¬ 
tailed. 

He then proceeded to unfold a plan which 
he had concocted for the relief of his friend, 
and to manufacture evidence that would bear 
an important part in the coming trial. 

He would procure an old shirt and a pair 
of pantaloons, which he would first stain with 
blood, and would then bury them in the ground 
near to the scene of the murder, and would 
then write an anonymous letter to the State’s 
attorney and to the counsel for Bucholz, 
informing them of the place where they could 
be found. 

The prisoner eagerly accepted this sugges¬ 
tion. He seemed to forget his pain, his fears 
and his suspicions as he listened, and when 
Sommers had concluded he laughed heartily, 
then he added, hurriedly : 

“ You must get an axe also, and bury that 

11 


with the clothes ; that was- 



304 


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER. 


He stopped abruptly, as though afraid of 
saying too much, and Sommers looked inquir¬ 
ingly into his face. 

“ How would it do to get the axe from the 
barn?” he asked; “the one that had blood 
on it when it was found.” 

“ That was chickens’ blood,” quickly replied 
Bucholz, “and it will not do. No, you must 
get an old axe from some other place and bury 
it with the clothes.” 

Sommers promised to comply with all these 
things, and on leaving the prisoner for that 
day his frame of mind had considerably 
improved, and thoughts of a suspicious char¬ 
acter were entirely dissipated. 

The anonymous letters were soon prepared, 
and it was arranged that they should be sent 
to San Francisco, Cal., and be remailed from 
there to Mr. Olmstead and to the counsel for 
William Bucholz. 

I experienced no difficulty in arranging this, 
as I have correspondents in almost every town 
and city in the United States; and the letter® 


AN ANONYMOUS LEI TEH m 

were upon the way to that distant Western 
city in a few days. 

The letter was as follows : 

“FRISCO, AUG., ’79. 

“I AM NOW OUT OF REACH OF 
JUSTICE, AND WILL NOT SUFFER THAT 
A INNOCENT MAN IS HELT FOR THE 
MURTER OF SCHULTE, AND VILL NOW 
STADE WERE THE CLOTHES AND 
BOCKET BOOKS WERE TROWN. U MAY 
FIND MORE BY SEARGEN THE GROUND, 
ABOUT TWO HUNDRED YARDS FROM 
WHERE SCHULTE WAS KILLED THERE 
IS A STONE FENCE RUNNING N. AND 
S. AND ONE RUNNING W., WERE THESE 
FENCES JOIN THERE IS A TREE CUT 
DOWN, AND U FIND BETWEEN THE 
STONES, AND IN THE GROUND SOME¬ 
THING THAT WILL SURPRISE U. I 
HOPE THIS WILL SAVE THE LIFE OF 
A INNOCENT MAN. 

“NAMELESS” 


It was printed in capitals and purposely mis* 


m 


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER. 


spelled, in order to convey the impression that 
the writer was a foreigner, and perhaps a 
tramp—many of which had infested that neigh¬ 
borhood. 

This letter pleased Bucholz immensely. It 
was, in his opinion, a wonderful production, 
and must certainly result in deceiving the 
State’s attorney. 

Mr. Bollman had now returned from Ger¬ 
many, and his errand had been entirely success¬ 
ful. He had seen the relatives of Bucholz, and 
they had promised to aid him financially in his 
trouble. Further than this, they seemed to 
take no great interest in his welfare. Shortly 
after his arrival a draft was received, which, 
upon being cashed, placed in the hands of the 
prisoner sufficient moneys to enable him to 
secure the services of the additional counsel 
who had been loath to act energetically in the 
matter, until the question of remuneration had 
been definitely and satisfactorily settled. 

In order to recover the amount loaned to 
Bucholz for Mr. Bollman’s expenses, Sommers 
suggested that in order to avoid any suspicion, 


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER. 


801 


he would demand of him the return of the 
same, and which he would inform Mr. Bollman 
his friend was greatly in need of. 

Mr. Bollman thereupon repaid two hundred 
and fifty dollars of the amount loaned, and Buch- 
oiz executed another due-bill for the sum of one 
hundred dollars, payable to Edward Sommers. 

Shortly after this occurrence Bucholz in¬ 
formed Sommers on the occasion of one of his 
visits that on the day previous he had been vis¬ 
ited by two of his attorneys. 

They had labored assiduously to induce him 
to confess as to the relations existing between 
himself and Sommers. They told him that if 
he had made any revelations to him ic might 
not yet be too late to counteract it, but if he re¬ 
fused to tell them the truth in regard to the 
matter they could not and would not be answer- 
able for the consequences. General Smith 
graphically portrayed to him the effects which 
would follow a failure co confide entirely in his 
counsel, and Bucholz’s frame shook percepti¬ 
bly as he pictured the doom which would cer¬ 
tainly follow if his attorneys had been deceived 


308 


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER. 


But all their arguments were of no avail 
He remained firm, and protested to the last that 
Sommers knew nothing about his case. The 
iron will upheld him during this ordeal, and the 
influence which the detective had gained over 
him had been of such a character as to out¬ 
weigh the solicitations of those to whom he 
ought to look for relief on the trial that was 
now fast approaching. 

How far again the question of self-interest 
may have induced this action cannot be ascer¬ 
tained. Bucholz had been led to believe that if 
he communicated the existence of the money 
which he had secured, to his lawyers, and if 
they should succeed in obtaining control of it, 
his portion would be very small indeed, after 
they had paid themselves therefrom. 

This idea may have been of sufficient weight 
to compel his silence, but the result—whatever 
the cause — proved that the detective had 
achieved a victory over the attorneys, and that 
he wielded an influence over their guilty client 
which they could never hope to possess. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


Bucholz grows Skeptical and Doubtful.—A .Fruitless 
Search. — The Murderer Involuntarily Reveals 
Himself. 

rjVELE days sped on, and the trial of William 
Bucholz, for the murder of Henry Schulte, 
his employer, was fast approaching. Regularly 
Edward Sommers had visited the imprisoned 
man, and upon the occasion of each visit had 
endeavored to assure him of the possibility of 
escaping from the charge against him. 

The mind of Bucholz was in a chaotic state 
of worriment and unrest. Between his con¬ 
fidences to Edward Sommers and the repeated 
warnings of his counsel he scarcely knew what 
to do or what to say. At times he would bit¬ 
terly regret having informed Sommers of any¬ 
thing about himself, and at others he would hug 
him to his breast as the only human being upon 
whom he could rely. 

To Sommers this experience had been a fcry- 

[3091 


810 


A FRUITLESS SEARCH. 


ing one indeed. He had been compelled to 
endure the various moods of Bucholz with 
patience and equanimity and to endeavor to dis¬ 
abuse his mind of frequent-recurring doubts. 
Many times during his visits he would be vexed 
beyond endurance at the doubtful questionings 
of his companion, which he frequently found 
very difficult to parry or explain. Then, too, 
he became extravagant in his demands, and re¬ 
quired the choicest delicacies that could be 
procured. He wanted new clothing, and even 
expressed a desire that Sommers should pro¬ 
cure for him a uniform dress of the regiment of 
hussars of which he was formerly a member— 
in fact, became so importunate in his demands 
and so ridiculous in his fancied wants, that 
Sommers, fearful of affording grounds for sus¬ 
picion in the minds both of the inmates of the 
prison and of the counsel for Bucholz, was 
compelled to emphatically refuse to gratify his 
wishes. 

These denials of course were productive of 
differences of opinion and angry altercations. 
Fresh doubts would be engendered, which 


4 FRUITLESS SEARCH. 


811 


would require the exercise of all the ingenuity 
of the detective to allay. Bucholz seemed to 
have no idea that a liberal expenditure of 
money at this time would be very injurious to 
his case, and that as Mr. Bollman had sole 
charge of the money received from Germany, 
he would naturally become suspicious of his 
client should he discover that Sommers was 
supplying his wants from a source which his 
counsel was ignorant of. 

He thirsted also for a glance at the money 
which had been found, especially the gold- 
piece with a hole in it, and besought Sommers 
to bring it with him, so that he might feast his 
eyes upon the wealth that was soon to be his. 
So frequent and imperious became these de¬ 
mands that Sommers had the greatest difficulty 
in convincing him of the danger to both of 
them which would be attendant upon any such 
proceeding. 

He had informed Bucholz that the money 
had been securely placed in the vaults of a safe 
deposit company in New York City, but he did 


812 


A FRUITLESS SEARCH. 


not tell him that the German Consul carried the 
key. 

Upon the occasion of almost every visit he 
weald be compelled to wrestle with this doubt¬ 
fulness of his companion before he could in¬ 
duce him to converse upon the matters that 
would naturally be considered of the utmost 
importance to him, but after long and arduous 
labor, he usually left him more cheerful and 
hopeful than he found him. 

The time drew near for the anonymous let¬ 
ters to arrive from San Francisco, and Sommers 
went to South Norwalk, and, locating the spot 
mentioned in the letter, he dug up the solid 
earth in such a manner as to convince whoever 
came to look for the hidden articles mentioned 
in the communication, that some one else had 
anticipated them, and that the articles had 
been removed. 

The letters were duly received, and Mr. 
Olmstead, who, of course, had been informed of 
their manufacture, upon receiving his paid 
no attention to the important information it 
was supposed to convey. The attorneys for 


A FRUITLESS SEARCH. BIS 

Bucholz, however, visited the spot, and to 
their dismay and disappointment they found 
the earth broken, and every indication that 
the articles, if any existed, had been removed 
in advance of their arrival. 

When Bucholz heard of the disappointment 
of his counsel, he was much chagrined, and 
accused Sommers of having arranged it so 
that Mr. Olmstead received his before the 
other was delivered. This, however, was 
proven to the contrary, and the fact was that 
even had there been anything hidden under 
the ground, Bucholz’s defenders were too 
dilatory in going in search of them. 

It was at the visit after the information 
had reached them of this fruitless search for 
important testimony, that Bucholz related 
to Sommers another dream, in which his former 
prison companion was said to have appeared 
to him as a detective, and as he finished the 
recital, he turned to his companion, and said: 

“If you are a detective, and if you do take 
the stand against me, it is all over. I will 
14 


314 


A FRUITLESS SEARCH. 


tell my lawyers to stop the trial—that will 
be the end of it—and me.” 

Sommers laughed at this and turned the 
drift of the conversation to the question of 
the approaching trial and the evidence that 
would soon be produced against him. 

He asked him in a quiet manner, if he had 
thrown the two old pistols where they had 
been found on the night of the murder, and 
Bucholz, with a smile, answered him : 

“Oh, my dear fellow, you make a mistake ; 
the murderers threw them there.” 

Sommers looked incredulously at him for 
a moment, and then replied: 

“I did not ask you whether you killed 
the old man or not; but you must not think 
me such a fool as not to know it.” 

Bucholz laughed, a hard, bitter laugh, and 
the glitter of the serpent’s came into the wicked 
blue eyes, but he made no denial. 

“I never thought when I first became 
acquainted with you,” continued Sommers, 
“ that you knew anything about this murder, 
mt rather thought you an innocent, harmless- 


A FRUITLESS SEARCH. 


8ia 


looking fellow. Indeed I never imagined tha* 
you had nerve enough to do anything like 
that.” 

Again that diabolical laugh, and Bucholz, 
holding out his right arm without a tremor of 
the muscles, replied, ironically: 

“ Oh, no ; I have got no nerve at all.” 

The next day they referred again to the find¬ 
ing of the articles hidden in the ground, and 
Sommers informed his companion that Mr. 
Olmstead had secured the axe that was in the 
barn, and regretted very much that he had not 
taken it when he was there. 

Bucholz looked troubled at this information, 
but, rousing himself, he inquired : 

“ What kind of an axe did you get \ ” 

“ Why, I got one as nearly like that in the 
barn as I could—about as thick as the iron bars 
on the door of the cell there.” 

“Yes, that is right,” said Bucholz, eagerly, 
while a glow of satisfaction dashed across his 
face. 

•‘I don’t know about that,” replied Som 


818 


A FRUITLESS SEARCH. 


mers. “How large were the wounds upon the 
head of Mr. Schulte ? ” 

“ One was about three inches long.” 

“Was that the wound that was made by 
the sharp edge of the axe ? ” 

“ Yes ! yes! ” replied Bucholz, eagerly. 

“ Well, how large was the other wound ? ” 
“Well,” said Bucholz, musingly, and mak¬ 
ing a circle of his thumb and forefinger, he held 
it up before the detective ; “I should think it 
was a hole about this large.” 

No tremor of the voice, no shaking of the 
hand, as he held it up, but, with a cold, unfeel¬ 
ing look, he made this explanation. 

“ I am afraid that the axe I bought was too 
large, because the back of it was as broad as 
the bar upon this door—about two inches.” 

“That is right enough,” quickly replied 
Bucholz, “because if you would take the axe 
and strike the blow upwards behind the ear, 
where that wound was, you would strike the 
head with the edge of the back, and that would 
crush in the bones of the skull and produce 
just such a hole as that was in Schulte’s head.” 


A FRUITLESS SEARCH. 81T 

He illustrated this by starting to his feet and 
raising his hands as if he was about to strike 
the blow himself. The murderous glitter came 
again into those flashing eyes. His words came 
thick and fast—the demon smile was upon his 
lips. He was acting again the scene of that 
dreadful night, and, oblivious of his listener, or 
the impressions he was creating, he lived again 
that frightful moment when he had inflicted the 
blows that laid the old man dead at his feet. 

There was a realism about his manner that 
was awfully impressive, and the detective invol¬ 
untarily shuddered as he looked into those 
gleaming eyes, in which murder was clearly re¬ 
flected. All doubts were removed from his 
mind—the murderer of Henry Schulte stood 
before him—and if the judges and the jury that 
were to hear his case in a few days could have 
witnessed this scene, conviction would have 
been carried to the minds of the most skep¬ 
tical. 

No confession seemed necessary now. If 
ever murder was depicted upon a human face it 
was expressed in every lineament of the face of 


818 


A FRUITLESS SEARCH. 


the man who stood before the detective in that 
prison cell. 

The wicked gleam had not died out from his 
eyes, as, unconscious of the effect his manner 
had produced, he resumed his position, and 
added, in a tone of entire satisfaction: 

“ Yes, yes, that axe is all right l ” 

Edward Sommers shuddered as he gazed at 
the man before him—the man who had become 
as putty in his hands, and yet who possessed a 
heart so black as to be capable of the damning 
deed for which he was so soon to be tried for 
committing. 

He thought of the tears this man had shed 
in the darkness of the lonely nights ; of the 
accusing voices that had rung in his ears during 
his uneasy slumbers ; of the conscience that 
would not down at the command of the reso¬ 
lute will—and then of the incidents of this 
afternoon, when the murderer stood revealed 
before him in all the hideous deformity of his 
brutal passion and his self-confessed crime. 

Of a truth events and not men are alone wor¬ 
thy of consideration in the life of a detective. 


THE JUDGMENT 


CHAPTER XXX. 


The Trial .— An unexpected Witness .— A convincing 
Story .— An able, but fruitless Defense. — A verdict 
of Guilty.—The triumph of Justice. 

HE trial of William Bucholz for the murder 



of Henry Schulte began in the old Court 
House at Bridgeport on the ninth day of Sep¬ 
tember, and a ripple of excitement pervaded 
the city. The interest attaching to this case had 
extended beyond the locality in which it had 
occurred, and the reporter’s table was crowded 
with representatives of the various metropolitan 
journals who designed giving publicity to the 
proceedings of the trial. 

The judges, solemn and dignified, were upon 
the bench. The lawyers, bustling among their 
books and papers, were actively engaged in pre- 


[310] 



330 


A VERDIOT OF QUILTT. 


paring for the scenes that were to follow, whil« 
the State’s attorney, quiet and calm, but with a 
confident look of determination upon his face, 
awaited the production of the prisoner and the 
formal opening of the case. 

Bucholi had engaged the services of three 
lawyers—General Smith, who had acquired con¬ 
siderable fame as an attorney; Mr. Bollman, 
who had been connected with the case from its 
inception, and Mr. Alfred E. Austin, a young 
member of the bar, who resided at Norwalk. 

The sheriff entered with his prisoner, and 
placed him in the dock, to plead to the indict¬ 
ment that was to be read to him, and upon 
which he was to be placed upon trial for his 
life. 

He entered with the same careless, jaunty air 
which had marked his first appearance at South 
Norwalk, and except for a certain nervousness 
in his manner and a restless wandering of the 
eager glance which he cast around him, no one 
would have imagined that he stood upon the 
eve of a trying ordeal that was to result either 
In sending him to the gallows or in striking 


A VERDICT OF GUILTY 


8S1 


from his wrists the shackles that encircled them, 
and sending him out into the world a free man. 

He was dressed with scrupulous neatness, and 
had evidently taken great care in preparing him¬ 
self for the trial. He wore a new suit of clothes, 
of neat pattern and of modern style, and his 
linen was of spotless whiteness and carefully 
arranged. As he entered and took his seat a 
suppressed murmur of surprise, not unmixed 
with sympathy, pervaded the court-room. 

The hall was crowded, and a large number of 
ladies, attracted, perhaps, by that element of 
curiosity which is inherent in the sex, and per¬ 
haps by that quality of sympathy for which 
they are remarkable, were present, and Bucholz 
at once became the focus of all eyes and the sub¬ 
ject of universal comment and conversation. 

From the nature of the charge against him 
many had expected to see some ferocious-look¬ 
ing ruffian, whose countenance would portray 
the evidence of his crime, and whose appear¬ 
ance would indicate the certainty of his guilt. 
Their surprise was therefore unbounded, when, 
instead of the monster their imaginations had 
14* 


SS2 A VERDICT OF GUILT 7 

conjured up, they beheld the young, well- 
dressed and good-looking German who ap¬ 
peared before them, and a strong feeling of 
sympathy for the unfortunate man was mani¬ 
fested by a majority of those present. 

Considerable difficulty was experienced in 
securing a jury, but at length the requisite num¬ 
ber were obtained, and Bucholz was directed to 
stand up and listen to the charge that had been 
preferred against him. 

A profound silence pervaded the court-room 
as the indictment was being read. The prisoner 
paid the strictest attention as the words were 
pronounced :— 

“ How say you, prisoner at the bar; are you 
guilty or not guilty?” and he answered in a 
firm voice: “Not guilty !” 

The attorneys eagerly scanned the faces of 
the “twelve good men and true,” into whose 
hands was soon to be confided the fate of the 
man who stood before them ; but their impass¬ 
ive countenances gave no indication of the 
thoughts which occupied their minds. They 
had been chosen for the performance of 9 


A VERDICT OF GUILTY. 


381 


solemn duty, and were evidently prepared to 
perform it without fear or favor. 

Who can fathom the mind of the prisoner 01 
conceive the myriad of vexing thoughts with 
which his brain is teeming ? He exhibits no fear 
—he displays no excitement—but calmly and 
quietly and with watchful eyes he gazes around 
upon the scene before him—a scene in which he 
is an important actor, and in which his fate is 
being determined. 

Without the formality of an opening ad¬ 
dress, the State’s attorney calls the first wit¬ 
ness—Mrs. Waring. This lady details the oc¬ 
currences of the afternoon and evening of the 
murder—the facts of which are already known 
to the reader. She also testified to the friendly 
relations existing between the murdered man 
and the prisoner, except upon one occasion, 
when, shortly before the death of Mr. Schulte, 
she had heard angry words in their apartments. 
No importance was attached to this, as the dis¬ 
agreement was of short duration, and their 
pleasant intercourse was speedily resumed. 

The evidence of the two daughters and the 


324 


A VERDICT OF GUILTY. 


sod of Mrs. Waring was taken* but they simply 
confirmed the story as related by the mother. 
The various persons who were present at the 
finding of the body—the physicians who had 
made the post mortem examination, were ex¬ 
amined as to their knowledge of the murder, 
and the circumstances incident thereto. 

The officers who had charge of Bucholz tes¬ 
tified to his extravagances during the time that 
intervened between the murder and the formal 
arrest of the prisoner, and to the fact of the 
money which he had expended bearing the 
peculiar marks which had been noticed upon 
it. 

Frank Bruner had been found by my opera¬ 
tives, and he identified the watch that had been 
found as belonging to Henry Schulte. He also 
testified to the conversations which took place 
between himself and Bucholz before he had left 
the service of Mr. Schulte, and also that the old 
gentleman had called upon him on the morning 
of that fatal day, and had informed him of his 
intention to dispense with the services of Bu 
cholz on the 15 th day of the succeeding month. 


A VERDICT OF GUILTY . 


m 


and requested Frank to again enter his service; 
which he had promised to consider before de¬ 
ciding finally upon. 

The examination of these various witnesses 
had occupied two days, and nothing very 
serious or convincing, except of a circumstan¬ 
tial nature, had been proven. Bucholz appeared 
jubilant and hopeful—his counsel were san¬ 
guine of acquittal, and even the jurors looked 
less sternly as their eyes fell upon the prisoner. 

The countenance of the State’s attorney was 
an enigma to the lawyers for the defense. Con¬ 
fident and self-reliant, he had marshaled his 
array of witnesses, and their testimony was a 
consistent recital of the events relating to the 
murder and the various circumstances relating 
thereto. Nothing definite or convincing had as 
yet been proven, and the attorneys wondered at 
the undismayed demeanor of the prosecuting 
officer. 

On the afternoon of the third day, after the 
examination of two unimportant witnesses, Mr. 
01 instead arose, and, addressing the sheriff 

g£*d : 


*26 


A VERDIOT OF GUILTY. 


“Call Ernest Stark.” 

There was nothing unusual in the name, and 
but little attention was paid to the order thus 
given. The prisoner and the attorneys had never 
heard the name before, and no uneasiness was 
manifested upon their faces, but when, in 
answer to that oall, Edward Sommers entered 
from the ante-room, and stepping upon the wit¬ 
ness stand, confronted the court, a change came 
over the faces of the accused and his counsel, 
wonderful to behold. 

Bucholz staggered to his feet with a smoth¬ 
ered expression of physical agony and stood for 
an instant pressing his hand convulsively upon 
his brow, his eyes, full of savage but impotent 
fury, were fixed upon the detective; but this 
emotion soon passed away and yielded to a 
vague, bewildered expression, as he sank back 
into his seat, overcome by the feelings which op¬ 
pressed him. 

The attorneys, stolid and immovable, gazed 
at this unexpected apparition, but long practice 
in their profession had enabled them to conceal 
their emotions, however powerful the influence^ 



His eyes full of savage but impotent fury were fixed zip on the detective 32 (> 












































































































































































































































. 












































































































































A VERDICT OF GUILTY. 


827 


and, except the first start of surprise, no out¬ 
ward indication was given of their astonishment 
at the appearance of the detective or their cha¬ 
grin at the duplicity of their client. 

The detective, calm and imperturbable, and 
apparently unconscious of the important part 
he was playing in this sad drama, stood there 
immovable, the perfect immobility of his face 
undisturbed by the consternation of counsel or 
the confusion of the prisoner. 

Under the examination of the State’s attor¬ 
ney, he told his story in a firm, deliberate man¬ 
ner, that carried conviction to the minds of all. 
He detailed the various experiences of his prison 
life and of his intercourse with the prisoner. 
He related the admissions which Bucholz had 
made to him, and testified to the influence which 
he had gradually acquired over the mind of the 
accused man. 

He graphically described their several inter¬ 
views, and finally he detailed at length the find¬ 
ing of the money of the murdered man, hidden 
it the places to which Bucholz had directed 
him. 


A VERDICT OF GUILTY. 


m 


The silence in the court-room was most im 
pressive. The crowded audience who had at 
first been amazed at the appearance of the detec 
tive, now leaned eagerly forward in their intense 
desire to hear each word that was spoken. The 
judges listened intently as the well-chosen sen¬ 
tences, fraught with so much importance to the 
cause of justice, fell from his lips. 

The eager, exulting ring of the voice of the 
State’s attorney as he conducted the examina¬ 
tion, and the low, modulated tones of the wit¬ 
ness as he gave the damaging answers, seemed 
to affect all present, and, with their eyes riv¬ 
eted alternately upon the witness and the pris¬ 
oner, they listened breathlessly as he related 
his convincing story. 

William Bucholz, after the first exhibition 
of his emotions, sat silent and apparently 
stunned during the whole of the rendering of 
this testimony. His eyes were fastened upon 
the detective witness, but no movement of the 
muscles of his face betrayed the despairing 
thoughts within. Silently he sat there—his 
arms folded across his chest, with cheeks 


A VERDICT OF GUILTY . 


blanched and. eyes staring straight forward 
toward the witness-stand. 

Already he sees the hand of impending fate, 
and as this unexpected web of circumstantial 
and positive evidence is being slowly and sys 
tematically woven about him, the shadow of the 
gallows falls upon him, and yet he makes no 
sign. The resolute will and inflexible nature 
sustain him firmly under this trying ordeal. 

As Ernest Stark related the finding of the 
hidden wealth of the murdered man which he 
had secured, an involuntary exclamation of sur¬ 
prise burst from the assembled listeners, and 
when he had finished his story a sigh of ap¬ 
parent relief escaped them. 

The testimony of the detective had occupied 
a day and a half in its rendition, and upon the 
opening of the court upon the succeeding day, 
the haggard look of the prisoner told unmis 
takably of the sleepless vigil of the night 
before. His lips remained sealed, however, 
and no one knew of the agony of his mind. 

Upon the conclusion of the detective’s testi 
mony, the money which had been found in th# 


380 


A VERDICT OF GTJIL1Y 


old barn was exhibited in evidence, and, as fche 
earth soiled pocket-books and the great roll of 
notes were displayed, eager eyes watched their 
production. It was the price of a human life, 
and another life hung trembling in the balance 
because of it. 

Robert A. Pinkerton was called, and con¬ 
firmed the statement of Ernest Stark with re¬ 
gard to the midnight visit to the barn and the 
finding of the money. 

Paul Schmoeck and another attache of the 
German Consulate identified the notes pro¬ 
duced, and also testified as to its safe-keeping 
since it had been so miraculously unearthed. 

Two important witnesses were now intro¬ 
duced, who proved beyond a doubt that this 
money was upon the person of Henry Schulte 
upon the night of the murder. This evidence 
was necessary, because the sagacious attorneys 
for the prisoner had already invented a plan of 
defense, at once ingenious and able. There had 
existed hitherto no proof that this money which 
had been found in the barn was in the posses¬ 
sion of the murdered man at the time of the 


A VERDICT OF GUILTY. 


381 


tragedy, and Bucholz might only be the thief 
who had robbed his master during his absence, 
and not the criminal who had imbrued his 
hands in his blood. 

Henry Bischoff and his son, prominent Her 
man bankers, and dealers in foreign exchange, 
distinctly remembered the visit of Henry 
Schulte to their banking house upon the day 
on which the murder was committed. The 
father identified some of the notes which had 
been found in the first package as those which 
had been given him in exchange for mark bills, 
and the son identified the gold pieces which 
had been unearthed with the second package as 
those which he had given to Mr. Schulte upon 
that day. Both pocket-books must therefore 
have been upon the person of Henry Schulte as 
he walked home upon that winter’s night ac¬ 
companied by his trusted servant who had 
robbed and murdered him. 

The clothing of the accused man, which he 
had worn upon that night, and which had been 
secured immediately after the occurrence of the 
tragedy and legally retained, were also intra 


832 


A VERDICT OF GUILTY. 


duced and identified. The shirt contained spots 
of blood, and the pantaloons also displayed evi¬ 
dences of the same crimson fluid. 

The prosecution then closed their case, and 
I he defense began. 

Undismayed by the convincing character of 
the testimony which had been given, the attor¬ 
neys for Bucholz labored diligently and ably to 
explain away the damaging proofs which had 
been adduced. 

Their cross-examination of the witness who 
had been known to them as Edward Sommers 
had been very light; they had not attempted 
to impeach his veracity or to question the 
truthfulness of his relations, and while this was 
a matter of surprise to many at the time, the 
wisdom of such a course soon became evident. 

The principal witness for the State was to 
be used as a reliable instrument in the hands 
of the defense, and the testimony of Edward 
Sommers was to be relied upon to substantiate 
the theory by which the attorneys for Bucholz 
hoped to delude the jury and to save their 
client. 


A VERDICT OF GJILTY. 


338 


The finding of the money was admitted as 
,he result of revelations made by Bneholz to 
the detective, but they endeavored to prove 
that though he might have robbed the old 
man, it was impossible for him to have killed 
him. 

It was contended upon the part of Bucholz, 
that the money was taken from the pockets 
of the murdered man while Bucholz was assist 
ing in carrying the body to the house, and 
that he was enabled to do this the more easily, 
because he alone knew where the old gentleman 
placed the money which he carried about his 
person. 

This theory was ingeniously suggested and 
ably argued, and several minor points of 
evidence were adduced in support of it. The 
blood-stains upon the clothing were also sought 
to be explained. Those upon the shirt were 
alleged to have been produced from the bleed¬ 
ing of the face of the prisoner who was 
wounded upon the same evening, and the 
pantaloons, it was claimed, had received the 
s fains upon them from the blood which had 


334 


A VERDICT OF GUILTY. 


dropped while Bucholz was assisting the bearers 
to carry the corpse to the house after the pre 
liminary investigation by the coroner. 

With rare skill were these theories pre 
sented, and with desperate energy these able 
attorneys led the forlorn hope against the 
strong fortress of conviction which seemed to 
enclose their unfortunate client. The audience, 
the judges and the jury were profoundly 
impressed, but they were not convinced. 

The judge charged the jury, and before the 
force of his sound, legal utterances, the airy 
castles which had been so ingeniously builded 
fell to the ground, and the hopes of the piisoner 
and his friends were buried in their ruins. 

The case was handed to the twelve men, 
and many scrutinizing glances were directed 
toward them as they slowly retired to delib¬ 
erate upon their verdict. Faint hopes were 
entertained of a disagreement, but all felt that 
conviction would be but a natural result. 

Slowly the crowd of spectators dispersed, 
as it became apparent that no report would 
be received that evening, and many ladies, 


A VERDICT OF GUILTY. $88 

moved by that latent sympathy which is 
usually manifested for great criminals, ap 
proached the prisoner, and, together with their 
condolences, bestowed upon him their offerings 
of flowers and fruits. 

At twelve o'clock the next day—during a 
recess of the court—a loud knock was heard 
upon the door which led to the jury-room. In¬ 
stantly every voice was hushed and every eye 
was strained to watch the countenances of these 
arbiters of fate who slowly entered and took 
their seats. 

Bucholz was laughing gayly with some ac¬ 
quaintances, but he became instantly serious— 
the smile died away from his lips, and he 
anxiously awaited the announcement that was 
to convey to him the blessing of life or the doom 
of death. 

Slowly the jurors arose and faced the court. 

“ Gentlemen of the jury, have you deter¬ 
mined upon your verdict i ” 

Breathlessly they all listened. 

“We have.” 

These words fell like a thunderbolt upon the 


A VERbIGT OF GUILTY . 


assembly. The prisoner’s face grew pale; he 
grasped the railing in front of him and gazed 
wistfully at the jurors who stood beside him. 

“ Prisoner at the bar, stand up,” said the 
clerk; and Bucholz arose immediately, turning 
his pallid face toward the jury-box. 

The gray-haired foreman, whose elbow almost 
touched the prisoner, looked at him with a 
glance in which was depicted a sympathy, which, 
while it was heartfelt and sincere, was not of 
sufficient force to outweigh a conscientious dis¬ 
charge of duty. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, how say you! Is 
the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?” 

With trembling voice the venerable foreman 
said, slowly: 

“ Guilty of murder in the first degree ! ” 

The guilty man fell back in his seat, as 
though he had been struck a heavy blow, and 
bowing his head upon the railing, he sobbed 
wildly. 

The :rial was over. Justice had triumphed, 
and this crime-stained man, who was now the 


A VE1WIG1 OF GUILTY . 


3 at 


object of so much attention, was decreed to pay 
the penalty of his misdeeds. 

The mystery of the murder of Henry Schulte 
had been judiciously solved, and the detective 

bad triumphed over the assassin. 
i§ 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


Another Chance for Life .— A Third Trial . —A Final 
Verdict—and a Just Punishment. 

JMMEDIATELY upon the rendering of the 
verdict, the attorneys for Bucholz moved 
for an arrest of judgment and filed their reasons 
for a new trial. 

After a delay of some weeks, an argument 
was had thereon. It was contended among 
other things that one of the jurymen, during 
the trial, and while they had not been confined, 
had spoken of the case upon which he was 
engaged, and had expressed an opinion in 
regard to the matter which he had been selected 
to determine. 

Upon this fact being shown to the satis¬ 
faction of the judges, a new trial was ordered, 
and the month of the succeeding February 
was fixed as the time for the hearing of the 


same. 


[338] 


A JUST PUNISHMENT. 


389 


The second trial was had, and although the 
evidence adduced was the same as upon the 
preceding occasion, or if anything stronger and 
more convincing, the jury disagreed and were 
finally discharged. 

A remarkable feature of this disagreement 
was the fact that upon the final polling of the 
jury that was taken, the vote given was: For 
murder in the first degree, nine; for murder 
in the second degree, two; and for absolute, 
acquittal , one. 

Grave doubts were entertained of the influ¬ 
ence which induced that single vote, but in 
the absence of any proof to the contrary it 
must be regarded as an honest opinion con¬ 
scientiously given. 

Another respite was thus afforded the 
unhappy prisoner, and the third trial—now 
just completed—was fixed for the thirteenth 
day of April in the present year. 

Again the court has been convened, and 
the formality of a trial has been gone through 
with. The jury have been sworn, the witnesses 
have been examined and arguments have been 


B40 


A JUST PUNISHMENT. 


made. Still, despite the vigorous and persistent 
attacks that have been attempted, truth pre- 
vails in the courts of law, and justice is 
triumphant. 

After a laborious trial, lasting over three 
weeks, the jury have rendered a verdict of 
“Guilty of murder in the second degree,” and 
the prisoner, standing tremblingly before the 
bar of justice, has been condemned to “ impris¬ 
onment for life” 

After exhausting all the technicalities that 
could be devised, the murderer of Henry 
Schulte will suffer the penalties of the law. 

******* 

Again we will visit the prison and look 
within the narrow cell where William Bucholz 
is confined. After a long struggle, fate has 
overtaken him. The dark shadows of night 
have gathered over the gloomy walls of the 
structure, and William Bucholz is now alone— 
the pale, thin face and the sunken eyes tell the 
agonizing story of unending anxiety and those 
sleepless vigils attendant upon the terrible state 


A JUST PUNISHMENT. 


341 


of uncertainty through which he has passed, 
and the doom which he is now to suffer. 

Eis hair is disordered and he wildly pushes 
it away irom his temples, as though its trifling 
weight added to the burden already resting 
upon his brain. The veins stand out upon his 
temples—now almost bursting with the intens¬ 
ity of the thoughts that have been crowding 
upon him—and still they come, vivid and ter¬ 
rible. 

Vainly he tries to seek that rest that will 
bring Nepenthe to his dreams, but the specter 
of that murdered old man will arise before his 
vision, and rest is impossible. Ah, how many 
long, weary days and nights, fraught with terror 
and remorse, will come to this unfortunate man 
ere he finds a final release and a bed of earth ! 

The miser of Hagen is avenged—and the 
murderer will suffer for his crime. 



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